


Innocence and Arrogance

by Grl_on_Fire



Series: The Tales of Isabelle Riddle [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Comfort, Complete, F/M, Friendship, Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 42,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26158972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grl_on_Fire/pseuds/Grl_on_Fire
Summary: The story of a boy with no choice and the girl fighting to give him one
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Tales of Isabelle Riddle [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892113
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	1. Summer at the Manor

“Draco,” my head lulls back, hitting the tufted headboard. “Draco – letters.” 

He slides back up the bed, white-blonde hair standing in stark contrast to the black silk sheets. His tongue glides over his bottom lip, giving me a proud smirk as he settles against the pillows, “What are you going on about?” 

“Letters.” I glance over at the door. 

Sitting just inside the room are two crisp white envelopes. At least Narcissa had the decency to not open the door. I’m not sure how much more she can take. Draco and her have very different ways of handling his father’s trip to Azkaban. While Lucius’s wife seems to draw into herself, Draco grows more and more reckless and impulsive. 

Getting up, Draco snatches the envelopes from the floor, handing me one with my name printed across it; our O.W.L results. He pulls me close to his side, already pulling his letter out. “Don’t suppose these really matter anymore, huh? What’ll we need with Charms and Astronomy?”

“He wants us to finish our education, Draco,” I answer coolly, popping the wax seal on my own letter. “It will look suspicious if we don’t return.” 

Draco grumbles under his breath, eyes scanning over his results, “I’ve gotten six Outstanding’s; Charms, Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions, and Transfiguration.” 

“I’ve gotten six as well, all but Divination and History of Magic,” I sneer down at the inked As. “They’ve given me an Acceptable.” 

Beside me, Draco drops his chin onto my shoulder, looking over my O.W.L results, “I’ve gotten an A in Divination as well. How’d you manage an O in Astronomy?” 

“Dunno,” I shrug, letting the paper fall to the floor. “It doesn’t matter anyway, I’m not going to continue with it. Snape will be happy, he was expecting both of us to be in his Advanced Potions class.” 

I’ve lost him again though. Draco wears a familiar far away look. While he’s doing his best to mask his feelings, I know his father’s imprisonment is weighing heavily on him. This is a moment where he should be gloating, shoving the paper under his father’s nose, waiting for the little nod of praise. 

“There’s still time to visit,” I offer cautiously, waiting for the harsh outbursts that usually come with these suggestions. The last time I told Draco we could visit his father I ended up sleeping in my own wing of the house until he came to apologize. 

Draco swallows hard, his head giving an unnatural twitch, “No. He wouldn’t want us seeing him like that. It’s bad enough they put his picture all over the Prophet.” 

“Draco? Isabelle?” A timid knock follows her voice. 

“Enter.” 

Narcissa, a once stunningly beautiful woman, now looks destroyed. Her eyes are bloodshot, skin blotchy. Deep purple bags sit under her watery eyes and her hand shakes as she reaches down to pick up the results I dropped. Her gaze bounces around the room, trying to avoid the crumpled sheets and her half-naked son. “If you circle the classes you’d like to continue taking, I can send off for the booklists.” 

“I think Isabelle and I will go for a swim,” Draco states as if his mother hasn’t spoken, staring out the window at the far end of his bedroom. 

He doesn’t mean to be this way. In her heart, Narcissa has to know this. Draco’s never had a blow like this before though. Since I met him, he’s thought the Malfoy name made his family invincible. He’s spent the majority of the summer deluding himself into believing his father is taking an extended vacation. To see his mother so broken, to indulge her new appearance, to see the tear tracks that now stain Narcissa’s face would send Draco’s carefully crafted defenses tumbling down. Instead of fighting him about it, I’ve taken on the role of an intermediary, the peacekeeper. 

Neither of their coping mechanisms is healthy or necessarily appropriate, but I think both Narcissa and I know something is coming. I see it in the way she jumps at the slightest of noises, the way both our heads snap towards the front door, eyes wide, anytime it opens. Maybe even Draco has a sense, adding another layer to his snarky behavior as a kind of defense. 

“We’ll get them back to you,” I take hold of Narcissa’s hand, giving her a smile. “You should have the house-elf draw you a bath.” 

The corners of her lips twitch up, sad eyes lingering on the back of Draco’s head, “Yes. Yes, perhaps that will be nice.” 

As the door clicks shut, the sound of Narcissa’s heels retreating up the hall, I turn on Draco. He’s already staring at me, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set; “Don’t start.” 

“Can’t you imagine how she feels? Alone. Worried about you – ”

He cuts in with a cruel laugh, “Nothing is going to happen to me.” 

“I’ve put up with your delusions all summer, Draco,” I snap back. “I’m not going to let you kid yourself into thinking nothing is going to happen. You saw him. He was furious. What happened at the Ministry was a huge setback. It’s not just going to be swept under the rug and forgotten.” 

“You sound just like her.” 

“We’re worried about you.” 

Where I expect there to be a harsh scowl and a cold stare is a lopsided smile and gleaming mischief, “You’re fussing.” 

I let out a snort of laughter, remembering the last time he told me that. Apparently, Draco isn’t in the mood for another row just yet. “You need fussing, you hardheaded, arrogant, git. Let people care about you.” 

Something I said must’ve gotten through to Draco. He seems to soften. He’s kinder to his mother, finally joining her in the dining room for meals. Once again, he opens up to me, the invisible barrier that existed between us at the beginning of the summer melting away. Draco finally comes to terms with his father being in Azkaban, spending a night drinking himself to tears. The rest of the month is spent tromping through the grounds, the two of us swimming and laughing. Even Narcissa seems to cheer up a bit. She often joins us for afternoon tea by the pond and talks excitedly about the upcoming school year. 

I let the pleasant mood radiate through me, temporarily pushing away the numbness. Nights are the worst. Sirius’s face floats through my dreams, that wide-eyed half laugh still set on his face. Harry’s screams echo in my ears as I watch his last living family member slip through a veil of darkness. I hear his threat reverberating through the night. I’m not supposed to care. I shouldn’t care. Sirius should’ve meant nothing to me, another person to use and throw away. I can’t shake the guilt though; the empty, hollow feeling I get every time I think about him. He was my friend, someone I confided in, someone I laughed with, shared my thoughts with, someone I cared about and now he’s gone and I’m expected to not care, to brush it off and move on. 

“Bell?” Draco’s voice floats through the crack under the bathroom door. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m f-fine, fine. I’ll be – be o-out in a minute,” I call back, whipping at my eyes and hoping Draco didn’t hear the crack in my voice. 

But it’s too late. As I turn, he’s there, concern written all over his face, “Bell, what’s wrong?” 

“I thought I could handle this, but I don’t think I can,” I shake my head, more tears spilling down my cheeks. “He was my friend and he’s dead and I’m not even allowed to be upset about it,” the words spill out in a heavy sob before I’m able to swallow them down. I stare back at Draco, now blurry through my renewed crying, wide-eyed. I wait for the Draco from the beginning of the summer to come crawling back out, sharp tongue aimed and ready. 

Instead, he collects me in his arms, rubbing gentle circles into my back as we sink back to the floor. He coos at me, trying to get me calm enough to form a coherent thought, to stop gasping for air and choaking out sobs. 

“Who are you talking about? Who’s dead?” 

Lifting my head, I stare into Draco’s icy grey eyes, searching for that piece of him I know is there; the piece that doesn’t care about alliances or who we’re supposed to be loyal to, the piece that has always cared about me and my feelings, no matter what they are. It only takes a second; my pain is reflected back at me, Draco looking at an utter loss, his bottom lip quivering. 

“Sirius! He’s dead and she killed him and he was my friend. And the last thing he saw was me turning my back on him, me just standing there letting it happen because that’s what I was supposed to do. He was my friend and I let her kill him!” 

The floor disappears. Somewhere water is running. I cling to Draco, crying into his chest as he continues to offer words of solace mixed with humming and gentle whispers about things being all right. My clothes are stripped away, warm water enveloping me. I feel Draco slide into the tub beside me, the door clicking shut. He holds me for a long time, letting me cry it out. 

“It’s okay to be sad, Bell,” he cups my face in his hands, gently bringing my head up to look at him. “You don’t always have to be the strong one.” 

“They can’t know. I wasn’t supposed to be making friends. If they found out – ”

His lips laying over mine cut off the rest of my frenzied babble, “I’m not going to tell. Someone you knew died, it’s okay to have feelings about that. It’ll be our secret.” He pauses for a second, forehead resting against mine. “Do you want to talk about him? Would that help?” 

“He gave me this,” I twist a thin silver ring around my thumb. The band is engraved with two snakes twisting around each other; their mouths open as if ready to attack. “It was his mum’s. We found it cleaning out the house. He was going to chuck it, but once he saw I liked it he gave it to me. He taught me Vanishing Charms and thought it was brilliant that I laughed at his jokes. He was good and brave. Don’t think less of me, Draco, please.” 

Draco scrunches up his nose as if something I’ve said is funny, “Less of you? Because you care about people? Because you feel it when someone you care about dies? Bell, those are the things that make me love you.” 

“You’re an incredible man, Draco,” I run my hand along his cheek, letting it settle against the side of his neck. 

“So are you, Isabelle,” Grinning down at me, he presses a kiss to my forehead. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”


	2. Draco's Task

They arrive on a Sunday, announced only by an almost instantaneous, palpable shift in mood within the manor. Narcissa, just starting to seem to come out of her depression, retreats back into herself. Her face stoic, a worried expression permanently etched there, making her look older than she is. Draco and I, once flamboyantly laughing and dancing through the house, now slink around corners and converse in hushed whispers. 

For almost two weeks, the three of us hang in the balance. Closed-door meetings happen regularly, forcing us out of the usual dining room. Narcissa and I share knowing looks as we pass in the hallway; in our minds, there’s only one way this visit ends. Lucius made a catastrophe of the Ministry plan and Voldemort is looking for someone to take his vengeance out on. 

I take to sitting up at night. Draco is next in line, which makes him the most likely candidate for Voldemort’s wrath. I feel better knowing that if they come for him in the night, someone will be there to put up a fight. While Draco sleeps, I read, listening for any movement in the hall. Sometimes, like tonight, I just lay there next to him listening to his heartbeat, my body blocking his, my mind wandering. 

As the floorboards outside the door creak, I curl my fingers around my wand, hidden under the pillow. My body tenses, heart thundering in my ears as the door creeps open. In the low lighting, I can see a mane of white-blonde hair. 

“How is he?” Narcissa’s whisper cuts through the tense silence. 

Audibly sighing, I relax, loosening the grip on my wand, “Sleeping.” 

“You should rest too.” My head twitches involuntarily, eyes flicking from Narcissa to Draco and back. She sees this, giving me a warm smile, “You’ll both be fine.” 

Narcissa gives me one last reassuring nod before backing out of the room. As the door clicks shut, I hear her gentle whispers, feel the protection she’s giving us radiating through the darkness. As I drape my body over Draco’s, preparing for sleep, I realize just how much I appreciate Narcissa. She took me in, no questions asked, and treated me as her own. Not because of who I was, or what might happen if she refused, but because she saw a child who had no one and wanted to show them someone cared. She’s never hesitated to give me anything I could ever want, asking for nothing in return. No matter what happens, she’ll be there. 

I sleep, but it isn’t restful. Every noise sends me into a panic, reaching for my wand. As the sun begins to work its way through the curtains, I give up completely, tracing patterns over Draco’s exposed arm to pass the time. The click of the door handle turns my blood to ice.

“Look at the way she protects him,” Bellatrix laughs out, a taunt in her tone as if she’s chastising some kind of childish behavior. “She can’t honestly think we’re going to kill him in his sleep.” 

Someone else clears their throat, “Bellatrix, leave them. He doesn’t want them awake yet.” 

For the second time in less than a day, I thank Merlin for Narcissa. I respect Bellatrix for what she is, but Azkaban has warped her. She’s a loose cannon, driven only by a desire to please the Dark Lord. Her ideas of grandeur grow wilder by the day. I wouldn’t put it past her to do something drastic. I’m supposed to trust these people, work with them to bring about a better future, but mostly I find myself terrified. There are too many unknowns, too many things I’ve not been allowed to hear. This silence only makes me warier, more cautious. My position of revere seems to be slipping. 

Breakfast is tense. No one speaks, all too aware of the man sitting at the head of the table. He largely ignores us, whispering nothings to Nagini who circles his feet. Every once in awhile I catch his fiery eyes staring at the spot where Draco and I hold hands under the table as if he knows. I’ll follow him into the dark so long as I get to bring Draco along. My father appears to be savvy to this slight shift in alliance. 

“Draco,” Voldemort’s velvety voice cuts through the silence like a knife, “you should join me today at one. We have much to discuss about your future.” 

I spend the rest of the afternoon pacing, anxiety tying my stomach in such tight knots it makes me nauseous. Draco seems oblivious to this, excitedly going on about what the Dark Lord said and how he hopes he’ll get to be like me, be given a task to prove himself. No one’s explained to him, he doesn’t understand how Voldemort operates. 

After my father disappeared many of his followers believed I was to be his successor. It was an honor and a privilege to get to participate in my upbringing. From a young age, I was taught, told how things work. My father has a limit on forgiveness. One slight indiscretion may be looked over after appropriate punishment. Most don’t live past the second. Lucius has been living on borrowed time since the Dark Lord was reborn. To Draco this is an honor, a privilege he’s being given. It’s not. This is punishment. Punishment I’m not entirely sure Draco is supposed to make it out of. 

At exactly one o’clock, there is a knock on the door. Dolohov smiles wickedly, gesturing Draco into the hall with a flourish of his fingers, “The Dark Lord will see you now.” 

I wait for him at the top of the steps, foot tapping out an erratic pattern against the polished wood. I fight off the urge to project myself into Draco, just to hear what’s being said. It would be wrong; I promised myself I’d never use my skill on him. How am I meant to help if I don’t know what’s going on though? By the time Draco reappears I’ve bitten my nails down to stubs and worked myself well on the way to a splitting headache. 

“Well?” I nearly demand as Draco takes my hand, leading me back to his room. 

Instead of answering, he shrugs, eyes flicking to the door, “He doesn’t want me telling people.” 

“It’s me, Draco. Either you tell me or he does.” 

Draco sighs, sitting down next to me on the couch in his lounge, “He’s given me a task.” 

“I figured that much,” I prompt, not used to having to pull information out of Draco. We’re always so candid with each other. 

“I’m meant to help the Death Eaters get into Hogwarts. They’re going to bring us back here after I’ve killed Dumbledore.” 

My heart stops, an icy chill rushing over me, gripping me with stony fingers. Kill Dumbledore? The understanding sinks in. Draco isn’t meant to survive this. Lucius’s only son, his heir, is meant to die trying to accomplish the task. Surely the Dark Lord can’t expect a child to accomplish what he cannot. 

“Oh,” I swallow hard, trying to paint on a face of indifference. “Is that all?” 

Draco nods. I don’t miss the glimmer in his eyes. He thinks this is an honor. He doesn’t understand the gravity of the task, just how impossible it will be, “I’ve already got some ideas. I think there’s a Vanishing Cabinet in the castle. I need to write to Montague to figure out where he came out.” 

“I’ll add him to the list for your birthday,” I comment, still fighting to keep my tone even, conversational. “I think that Vanishing Cabinet was broken, the one in the castle. Montague said he got stuck, couldn't get out.” 

He seems to be filing this information away, “I’ll have to figure out how to fix it.” 

“I’m sure the library will have something to help. Draco – ” for a few seconds, I consider not asking the question. I don’t want him to be offended. He’s perfectly competent, able, driven, I just don’t want him to feel like he’s alone. “ – will you let me help you?”

His eyes narrow, teeth working at the inside of his cheek, “This is my task, Isabelle, he gave it to me.” 

My heart plummets into my stomach, “Of course.” 

“But,” Draco hurries on, smiling over at me, “it doesn’t mean you can’t tag along. I like having you to bounce ideas off of.” 

Leaning forward I press a kiss to Draco’s forehead, “Thank you. I’m going to go on a walk. I’ll come find you later.” 

The thoughts swarm in the second his bedroom door clicks shut behind me. There has to be a way to put a stop to this, get my father to see reason. He’s sentenced Draco to death. I won’t have it. I’m just as much to blame for the dismal failure at the Ministry as Lucius. I couldn’t control Harry. I wasn’t able to get him to give over the Prophecy. Perhaps I can convince my father to shift at least a little of the blame onto me. Forcing his hand has never worked in the past, but I was never quite as convicted as I am now. He can’t have Draco. He doesn’t get to take him from me, not after I’ve lost so much. 

As I wander the halls, I map out my plan of attack. I’ll use my father’s thin patience to my advantage. I’ve been given a veil of protection. I can push farther than most without fear of repercussion. Every day until he cracks. He’ll grow tired of the constant nagging. All I need is one slip, one tiny indication that I’m allowed to help, allowed to take some of the burden off Draco’s shoulders. If he chooses to force my hand I’ll have no choice but the take Draco’s side. My father has to know that. I’m depending on his understanding, that, right now, my loyalty hangs in the balance. I can be his greatest strength or his worst enemy. I know too much. He'll have to choose; self-preservation or punishment. If I've gotten a proper handle on how my father operates, he'll choose self-preservation; death is too powerful an enemy, even for the Dark Lord. 

The sound of muffled cries pulls my attention. Following the sound, I find myself outside of the Malfoy’s tearoom. Gently, I open the door, peeking inside. She sits on one of the low backed couches facing the fire. Her shoulders wobble; face hidden behind shaking hands. 

“Narcissa?” 

“Oh,” she turns, dabbing at her eyes. “Isabelle.” 

I walk over to her, sitting down on the floor by her feet. Slowly, I slide my hand under hers, tracing my thumb over her knuckles, “I’m going to keep him safe, help him do this. He’ll be okay.” 

“You are just children,” she sniffs, shaking her head. “Neither of you should have to bear the burden of adults.” 

Smiling sadly over at her, I give a noncommittal shrug, “I’ve come to realize it’s often children who are left to clean up the messes of adults. Draco is strong. He can do this.” 

“You’re good for him,” Narcissa announces after a few minutes of silence. “You make him better. He loves you, don’t forget that in all of this.” 

“And I love him. He makes me better, stronger. He loves you too, in his own way,” I give her what I hope looks like a comforting smile. “He’s going to be okay. I’m going to make sure of that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With school starting up again for me, my uploading schedule is going to be changing. I'll be updating every Friday and Sunday instead of every other day like I was doing before.   
> As always, thank you to everyone reading, leaving kudos, and commenting. That stuff makes my day. :)


	3. Isabelle's Fury

I’m in the drawing-room early the next morning. My father will not get a moment’s peace for the rest of the time he remains here. He’s going to rue the day he ever said my stubbornness was a blessing. I intend to show him just how deep I can dig my heels in. 

Voldemort enters the room soundlessly, producing a chair next to me. I wait till he settles in, resting his chin on tented fingers, “I assume there is something you’d like to talk about.” 

“As usual your presumptions are correct,” the masks are on again, the wall put back up. That’s fine. I’ve come with a wrecking ball. “I’d like to discuss your plans for Draco.” 

I get a side-glance, his lips twitching as if he finds the topic of conversation humorous, “I should have suspected he’d share with you.” 

“We don’t have any secrets.”

My father actually grins at this, one finger pressing into my temple, “None?” 

I slide my gaze over to him, maintaining the same bored look I shared with the fire, “I am not here to discuss the interworking of my relationship.” 

“Aren’t you? Haven’t you come to plead for the boy’s life?” 

“Plead is too strong of a word. I’ve come to explain my recollections of the night.” 

My plan is a rather simple one. Start off with facts and reason. Even my father can’t deny the truth when it is laid out before him. I’ll escalate from there, pushing more each day. My father might have a sly tongue, but so do I. If I do this right, keep my head; he’ll give me the permission I need without even realizing it. 

This seems to pique the Dark Lord’s interest. He leans forward a little, readjusting so he’s turned towards me, “By all means.” 

“As you know, part of the plan was for me to get Harry to give Lucius the Prophecy. That obviously did not work,” I scan over his face, looking for any signs of change, any hints to help me along. He gives me nothing. “I was unable to possess Potter.” 

“Yes, I too felt the other entity inside of the boy,” my father nods, lost in thought. “Quite interesting.” 

I have a sneaking suspicion the reason why my father was unable to possess the boy is much different from my reason. It didn’t take me long to figure out that there was a way for me to hear Harry’s Prophecy even with the orb smashed. Severus was more than willing to help and Trelawney really stood no chance against my curse. She was practically spilling her guts the second I entered the room. Some people are too feeble-minded for their own good. 

That part of my mind is hidden to my father though, just like so many other parts. He doesn’t get to know, not unless it comes to that. He wants it too much. Giving it too early, if at all, could be disastrous. 

“Yes, yes a complete anomaly,” I grit out. “What I’m saying is that the blame is not entirely on Lucius.” 

Voldemort chuckles, cold and lifeless, “Draco is being given the chance at a position of great revere, Isabelle.” 

“He doesn’t see what you’re doing,” I argue. 

The red eyes side into slits, looking more snake-like than ever, “And what exactly do you think I’m doing?” 

“Lucius failed and you’re punishing his son.” 

There is no waver in my voice. I know his game. There’s no point in trying to hide and deflect. Getting right to the point is my best route here. I don’t have the time or patience for the workaround. I’m here to knock down that haphazardly constructed wall. If power is to be shared, glory to be had together, it shouldn’t have ever been built in the first place. 

The look I receive in return lets me know I’ve blown a sizeable hole in the bricks, tilted him off his feet a bit. My father’s inability to recognize my power, my ability to see past the well-crafted lies is a weakness. I’ve exposed some of it, “He seemed honored to be given the opportunity to prove himself.” 

“Honored?!” I below, sending the goblet I’m holding towards the fireplace. It explodes in a wave of glass and red liquid. So much for keeping my head, “You’re sending him to his death!” 

“Do you think he is incapable?” he questions, a cruel edge to his voice. 

His calm, calculated tone only sends me into a further rage, chest heaving, “Of course not! Draco is more than capable. How dare you insinuate differently!” 

He’d love that, to hear me admit Draco is lesser. The Dark Lord has disproved of the pairing since he found out. The Malfoy’s have lost their seat of honor. He thinks Draco is below me. Voldemort thinks my caring for Draco makes me weak, clouds my judgment. If anything, it’s made my conviction more clear. I’d do anything to keep Draco happy, safe…alive. It’s becoming more and more apparent that will likely mean going against one of the most powerful wizards of our time. 

“Then you should have nothing to worry about,” Voldemort responds with a flourish of his wrist. “I’ve got meetings today. Run along.” 

The next two days go much the same. More deflecting. More weak attempts at getting me to admit I don’t think Draco possesses the power to complete the task. I grow frustrated, throwing out more threats than I originally intended to. I’ve clearly underestimated my father’s ability to splice words and spin tales. He throws off my mentions of helping Draco, telling me it would unwise. 

By the fourth day, I’ve detected the loophole; ready to use it against a man who is so sure no one will defy him that he doesn’t do anything to shore up the holes. I’ve decided my original plan; to dissuade my father from his path will not work. Instead, I need to turn his anger towards me. Force him to take his attention away from Draco. While I might not be able to completely take the weight of the task away, I may be successful in shifting some of the tides. 

I’m sitting in the same chair, legs pulled up into a pretzel, changing the color of the fire when he walks in, “Good morning, father.” 

“Are we doing this again today, little one?” I smile at the annoyance in his tone. My father might have a strong resolve, but this is getting tiresome for him. Today might be the day. 

As he sits, I look over at him, “And every day until you change your mind.” 

“I could just kill him,” Voldemort comments, no longer hiding behind the lies of glory. It helps me keep my temper and frustration better in check now that we’re able to be more candid. 

“We both know that wouldn’t be as much fun for you.” 

This gets a smile, “I don’t like to be questioned.” 

“Perhaps you should’ve chosen to work alone then.” 

Another smile. Despite not wanting to feel this way, the approving look he’s giving me is pleasing. There are few the Dark Lord would let quip with him like this. There must be some form of amusement gained from this, some level of enjoyment. I highly doubt he would’ve continued to entertain the conversations if there wasn’t. 

“Perhaps I should’ve insisted you were taught better manners.” 

“Manners are reserved for those with no power,” I remark. “What’s the point of being polite if you don’t have to be?” 

“For the Malfoy boy.” 

“Not for much longer.” 

For the first time in weeks, Voldemort actually catches my eye, “Have you changed your mind about him?” 

“You misunderstand, father,” I smile, letting it slide into a cold stare, refusing to break the Dark Lord’s eye contact. “You see, I’ve concluded that, if you aren’t going to relent, I’ll simply have to make sure he succeeds. That is what you want, after all? Dumbledore dead?” 

“Yes,” he settles back in his seat, my words not pleasing him the way he’d hoped they would. “I would like the headmaster dead.” 

“Then I’ll give that to you.” 

“You wouldn’t,” It’s a challenge and a threat tied up with a ruby red ribbon. 

I shrug, “Don’t underestimate the power of a child.” 

The fall into the trap is obvious the second the words are out. He cannot stand the use of them against him. Not from Dumbledore and certainly not from me. I’m supposed to be on his side, loyal to only him. Anger flashes blood red. He’s standing in an instant, his chair flying backward through the room. I’ve shown my hand; I have to live with the consequences. I hold my breath as he invades my space, his jaw quivering with rage. 

“To help the boy would be a grave mistake,” he snarls. “Do not mistake your place in this. I can take just as easily as I give. You have worn through my patience.” 

“Then punish me for it.” 

“Punish you?” Voldemort cackles, rising from his chair. “Isn’t failure punishment enough?” 

It’s the way he cushions the word failure that sends the final blow at the wall. Now with nothing but rubble between us, I see his real intentions. Draco’s task, destined only for failure, will be my ultimate punishment. This was never about shared power or a shot at glory. I always have and always will be a pawn in the dangerous game my father started almost two decades ago. Instead of sitting at his right hand, I will be left to stand witness to Draco’s destruction. Seeing everything I’ve worked for, the love we’ve established laying in a lifeless heap on the floor would kill me. 

In the few fleeting seconds it takes me to come to this realization, my father loses me completely. I won’t let him do this. The stubbornness he gives such value will be his downfall. I won’t let Draco fail. He’ll succeed and then I’ll be the one laughing at the stupid look on Voldemort’s face. Dumbledore told him not to underestimate a child. It was me throwing those words back at him that sent him into a rage. I’m going to make my father’s callous toss off of those words a mistake. 

“Please,” I call after him, standing from my chair. “I’m begging you.” 

One last test. One last push to see if my suspicions are correct; if I really am going to have to start my own war. My heart sits in my throat, beating unsteadily. 

“Begging?” He stops, spinning back to me. His lips pull down into a harsh frown, forehead crinkling as the lifts the skin where his eyebrows should be. “I was under the impression that begging was done from one’s knees.” 

But I can’t. It’s the one thing I cannot give my father no matter how many crafty ways he asks. To kneel would be to tear down our carefully maintained understanding. To kneel would be to admit that I know I’ll never actually be his equal. I’m not willing to give up that falsity, no matter how much he wants it. Call it pride or stupidity, but I’m not willing to give my father the satisfaction. Not yet, not while I’ve still got some power left. 

A part of me, the part that's clung to childish fantasies and idolized my father from day one begs to put an end to this. I refuse to listen to it. I can't. Not now and not ever again. Over the past week, my father has shown me the man he really is. The cause he's fighting for isn't a new order where wizards don't have to live in isolation and fear. My father's only cause has been and always will be about power. If gaining that power means carelessly tossing aside people I care about, I'm quite certain I want no part of it. I'm ready to start my own war because I’ve found a person worth fighting for, a person who I’m willing to use what little scrap of influence I still have to defend, a person that’s been by my side, on my team, since day one. It isn’t my father.


	4. A Night to Remember

My father takes his leave the next morning. It was decided it would be best if the house were not full of the Dark Lord’s army while Draco and my school friends are here. After breakfast, Narcissa, Draco, and I gather in the front hall to see him and his followers off. 

It’s a tense goodbye, though I never expected anything less. My father’s anger at me has not quelled. He’s made it clear he has no intention of removing Draco’s punishment. My battle, fought alone, for now, is just beginning. 

“Do not let your arrogance lead your decision making,” Voldemort addresses me, his eyes portraying more of a warning than any words ever could. 

He turns next to Draco, curling his fingers tightly around my shoulder as he speaks. Though not directly a threat, the words hold the same weight. He’s making it apparent he doesn’t approve of our continued relationship, “Do be careful with my daughter, Draco. She’s fire, liable to get out of hand if not handled correctly.” 

“I think I’ll take my chances, my Lord,” Draco squeezes my hand, shooting me a smile, which I return happily. He’ll be on my side no matter what. “Besides, I’ve always liked to play with fire.” 

In one last flash of anger, my father departs in a whiff of smoke. The atmosphere changes immediately. 

Lively music plays through the house as guests begin to pour into the house. I’ve invited almost the whole of Slytherin house for the occasion. The ballroom and greenhouse adjacent to it have been transformed. Gentle lights twinkle from the ceiling, casting both rooms in a beautiful cheery glow. An orchestra and a band have been brought in. I even arranged for fireworks to close out the evening. Everything will be perfect. One final night of childish bliss before both Draco and I are thrust into a war we’re not nearly prepared for. 

Draco and I jest back and forth as we get ready. He’s wearing an all-black suit, detailed with smooth silk around the cuffs and the collar. His satin bowtie matches the green of my dress. 

“This is too much,” Draco pretends to complain as I put the finishing touches on my makeup. 

Grinning, I hand him my necklace, pulling my hair out of the way so he can clasp it around my neck, “It’s not every day a man turns sixteen.” 

“And you’ll say the same thing when I turn seventeen,” Draco grins, offering me his elbow. “You just like the excuse to have a party.” 

I tilt my head against his shoulder, nuzzling my nose gently at his jaw, “Guilty as charged. Besides, after the week we’ve had we deserve a bit of fun.” 

“You shouldn’t have provoked him.” 

Rolling my eyes, I lead us up the hallway towards the stairs. I can hear the laughter of our friends below, likely already indulging in wine and dancing, “My father needs a good provoking. It keeps him on his toes.” 

“He could’ve had your head.” 

Chuckling lightly, I roll my eyes at him, “My father only wishes he could have something so pretty on his shelf of collections.” 

“A bit full of ourselves tonight, aren’t we?” 

“Have you seen me in this dress?” I do a little twirl as we reach the bottom of the stairs, waiting for the smooth material to settle back against my skin before cocking an eyebrow at Draco. “I think I more than deserve to be full of myself.” 

Draco hums, running his lips up my neck as he wraps me in a hug, “You do look ravishing.” 

“Point made,” I give him a nod. “Now, it wouldn’t be polite to keep your guests waiting.” 

“Did you invite Montague?” 

“Yes, he should be here. I told him it was important you get to talk with him.” 

With a nod, Draco disappears into the crowd of guests. Standing off to the side, I watch the party unfold. I was hoping it would lift my spirits, but the sense of impending dread still lingers. Watching my classmates dance and laugh just makes me feel lonely. None of them could ever understand. Their sense of normality hasn’t been twisted upside down. They aren’t fighting for their lives. This is just another excuse to drink. This upcoming school year will be like any other. 

Unable to tolerate the atmosphere, I wander outside. The light wind picks up my hair, throwing it around my face. It tosses the bottom of my dress out around my legs, sending a chill up and down my spine. Sitting on the steps, I look over the back grounds. In the distance a fountain gurgles, forcing back memories I’d rather not have. Frowning, I glance down at the ring still wrapped around my thumb. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper down at it, twisting the metal around my finger. “I let you down. You saw the good in me and I threw that away.” 

Biting into my bottom lip, I blink away the tears welling up in my eyes. I’ve spent so many nights willing what happened at the Ministry to be a bad dream. Sirius can’t really be dead. Not like that. It’s unfair that someone like Sirius, so brave and good, should be gone while people like me, wicked, twisted, cruel, should be allowed to continue on. Maybe helping Draco, keeping him alive, will help me be half the person Sirius saw. 

“What are you doing out here?” He sits down next to me, shrugging out of his suit jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders. 

I run my finger over the smooth fabric of the collar, “It was hot inside.” 

“You’ve got your thinking face on,” Draco comments. “What’s bothering you?” 

“I haven’t got my thinking face on.” 

Draco hums, narrowing his eyes, pursing his lips together in a rather accurate example of what I’m sure I looked like, “Want to try answering that again?” 

“You wouldn’t like the answer,” I admit, sliding my gaze away from him. 

He wraps an arm around me, taking my hand, “You don’t need to worry about me. Montague confirmed my theory about the cabinet in the castle with a twin in Borgin and Burkes. I’ll start mending it as soon as we’re at school. Everything will be okay, Isabelle.” 

“We’ll,” I correct. “We’ll start mending it.” 

Draco hesitates before giving me a smile, “Yes. Together. Now, seems as you’re the only person at this party I can actually stand to be around, will you please come dance with me?” 

“You’re just trying to show me off.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head, “I have a very beautiful girlfriend, and she deserves to be flaunted. Isn’t that what you said?” 

“I’m not just some pretty piece of jewelry to be shown off.” 

I’m letting my frustration with words my father threw at me this past week leak into my relationship with Draco. It’s wrong, but I can’t help it. I can only be told I’m some ornament to be taken off a shelf and shown around, that I’m only useful when invading the minds and bodies of others so many times before it starts to affect me. 

“You’re right. You’re the sun. Beautiful and dangerous and warm and dazzling. I’m not showing you off, everyone’s already looking,” Draco leans over, cupping my face in his hands, his eyes capturing mine. “But you’re also brilliant and brave and wickedly witty, and I am unconditionally in love with you. So please, dance, not for them. For me. To make me the happiest man in the room tonight.” 

Rolling my eyes, I try to hide my face, “You’re making me blush.” 

“Yes. And I’m going to keep doing it for the rest of your life so you’d better get used to it.” 

Draco doesn’t leave my side for the rest of the night. He fills me with enough wine to turn the painted-on smile to a real one. He twirls me around the dance floor, doing everything he can to make me laugh. In his arms, I feel like everything will be okay. We’ve got each other. No matter what happens it will always be that way. He loves me and he’s going to let me help him. I feel it in the way he holds me, in his smiles, in the sparkle that never leaves his eyes. 

The party moves out of the ballroom and into the atrium. Nott gets drunk enough to dance on one of the tables set up for food. His face is tomato red, laughter ripping out of him as he twirls his tie above his head. I laugh along with everyone else, imagining the horrified look that would grace my father’s face if he saw just how undignified everyone was behaving. As Nott goes to spin, his foot catches on the table runner. His eyes go wide, arms pinwheeling as he tries to keep his balance, but it’s too late. In a storm of glass and material, Nott crashes through one of the atrium’s windowpanes. 

A silence falls over everyone, Nott’s girlfriend letting out a shriek before rushing forward to help him up. As the boy stands, he throws a fist in the air, letting out a whoop. All those who gathered around to watch the drunken spectacle erupt into laughter, most too intoxicated to really care about the boy’s safety. 

“Reparo,” I twist my wrist at the window, the glass immediately jumping back into place as I stride towards Nott. Giving the boy a smile, I catch him by the shoulder, forcing him up the walkway. “Leave.” 

He chuckles back at me, rubbing his elbow, “It was just an accident. The window is fine. No harm.” 

“You’re drunk. Go home.” 

“He’s just as drunk as you are,” Nott’s girlfriend argues back. 

I let the polite smile fall from my face, giving the couple an icy once over, “Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I said get out. Don’t make me force you.” 

In a huff, Nott’s girlfriend takes him by the arm, pulling him towards the door. I shoot a hex after her, laughing at her shriek. Protruding from her lower back in a thick black horsetail. Draco chuckles, pressing a kiss to my temple, “You’re evil.” 

“That was cruel, Isabelle,” Blaise says, lounging against the wall. 

I shrug, “Now the back matches the front. Draco doesn’t think it was mean, do you?” 

“No. He broke my house.” 

The guests have once again gone silent, standing on tiptoe to try and see what’s going on. Taking Draco’s hand, I raise our claps fists into the air, addressing our friends, “This is a party, isn’t it? Dance!” 

Within a matter of minutes, the music picks back up and everyone forgets the whole ordeal. 

“I’ve got one more surprise,” I announce later in the night through a slur, handing the wine bottle we’re sharing back to Draco. 

His face is flushed red from the alcohol, a crooked smile set on his perfect lips, “Another? You spoil me.” 

“Indeed,” I laugh back, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Come.” 

We twist our way to the back porch. Draco lifts me up onto the stone railing, keeping his arms around my waist. The first streak of light flies through the darkness, erupting in glittering gold. The sound brings the rest of the guests outside. There’s a chorus of oohs and ahhs as more colorful sparkles light up the sky. 

I lean my head back against Draco’s shoulder, my hand finding the side of his neck, “Happy birthday, Mr. Malfoy.” 

“Thank you for making it magical,” he presses a kiss to my forehead, “I love you, Bell. Until every star falls.” 

I only hope we have that long.


	5. Borgin and Burkes

A week before the start of term Narcissa announces we’ve put off a trip to Diagon Alley for too long. This seems to please Draco, as he’s been anxious to corroborate Montague’s story about another Vanishing Cabinet in Borgin and Burkes since the night of his party. We’re awoken before the sun rises, whisked into the kitchen for breakfast, and then ushered into the fireplace so quickly I’ve barely had time to finish my toast.

Narcissa informs both Draco and me that Greyback will be accompanying us as extra protection. I assume this is more for appearances than anything else. With the Ministry having no choice but to admit that Voldemort is back, no one is taking any risks. People travel in packs, moving about their tasks quickly and with a purpose I don’t usually see in Diagon Alley. While I feel his presence, Greyback does keep his distance, preferring to lurk in corners and sneer at those who look at our traveling party for longer than he approves of.

“We should get you both new robes,” Narcissa announces, glancing over our list of school things. “Draco yours are much too short.”

“Yes, mother, whatever you think is best.”

After instructing Greyback to wait outside, Narcissa ushers us into the robe shop. She hovers in the corner as Madam Malkin gets everything set up.

“Why don’t you go get our books mother? Isabelle and I are perfectly fine here alone.”

Narcissa frowns, “No dear. I’ll stay. These are dangerous times. No one should go wandering alone.”

“Honestly, I’m not a child, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping _alone_.”

Madam Malkin chuckles lightly as the bell over the door sounds, “Now, dear, your mother’s quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our anymore, it’s nothing to do with being a child – ”

“Ouch!” Draco yowls, ripping his arm away from the witch, who, while eager to agree with Narcissa’s evaluation of the times we’re living in, has neglected to pay careful enough attention with her sewing needles. “What where you’re sticking that pin, will you!”

Tossing off her grasp, Draco steps off the circular platform to examine himself in the full-length mirror set up against the wall. I see them over his shoulder, the mop of messy dark hair next to one of flaming red letting me know who they are before I even see their faces. Draco notices seconds after me. His eyes narrow, lips curling up into a cruel sneer. 

“If you’re wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in.”

“I don’t think there’s any need for language like that,” Madame Malkin squeaks. “And I don’t want wands drawn in my shop either.”

Stepping down from my own platform, I slide in behind Draco, wand flicking between Harry and Ron, “Who blackened your eye, Granger? I’d like to send them flowers.”

Hermione’s fingers fly to her eye, gaze jumping to the floor momentarily, her cheeks dusting pink in embarrassment.

“That’s quite enough,” Madame Malkin tires again, turning to Narcissa in desperation, “Madame – please.”

Narcissa’s cool fingers curl around the back of my neck. Her cold stare fixed on Harry and Ron who still have their wands trained on Draco and I, “Put those away. If you attack my son and Isabelle again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever so.”

“Really?” Harry challenges, taking a few steps forward. “Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?”

Madame Malkin lets out a terrified squeal, clutching at her heart, “Really, you shouldn’t accuse – dangerous thing to say – wands away, please!”

When Harry doesn’t follow the seamstresses’ instructions, Narcissa gives him a cruel smile, “I see that being Dumbledore’s favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won’t always be there to protect you.”

“Wow,” Harry makes a grand show of looking around the shop. “Look at that. He isn’t here now.”

Tipping forward, I get a glimpse out the window. Hagrid stands just outside, rocking back and forth, occasionally shooting a glance inside, “Dumbledore might not be here, but he didn’t send you alone, did he? I see you’ve brought security. Dumbledore scared you won’t make it out alive a fifth time?”

“Why not have a go?” Harry continues, throwing his arms out, his gaze flicking to me for half a second before returning to Narcissa. “They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!”

Draco tries to lunge at Harry, but gets caught up in his overlong robs, reaching out to the nearest rack to steady himself, “Don’t you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!”

“It’s all right, Draco,” Narcissa takes better hold on his shoulder. “I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius.”

My body jerks involuntarily at the mention of Sirius’s name. The movement alerts Draco, who looks over at me with soft, kind eyes. He gives my hand a quick squeeze before starting to remove the partially pinned robes, “I don’t think I want these anymore – ”

 _Thank you_ , I mouth as he throws the robes down at Madame Malkin’s feet. Draco gives me a smile before turning to his mother, staring her down expectantly. Narcissa gives Harry, Ron, and Hermione one more steely once over, before nodding, “You’re right, Draco. Now that I know the kind of scum that shops here, we’ll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting’s.”

In a flourish of rich black robes, Narcissa ushers both Draco and I back out into the street.

“Mother,” Draco stops our progress towards Flourish and Blotts, “I have an errand I need to run." 

"We'll handle it after getting your books, dear."

" _Alone_.”

Narcissa frowns, her eyes sweeping over the groups of people still hurrying about to get their shopping done. While she’s got no real reason to worry, I still see the unease flash through her eyes. Draco is her only son. She loves him with a fierceness only a mother can possess. If anything were to happen to him she’d be devastated. “I really think – ”

“I’ll go with him,” I cut in with a smile.

Draco nods, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, “Of course. I’ll be safe with Isabelle.”

“Well – ” Narcissa chews at her lip, eyes sweeping between Draco and me “ – alright, but there and straight back. No wandering. I’ll meet you in front of Flourish and Blotts.”

With that, Draco and I turn on our heels, hurrying up the street before Narcissa can change her mind.

“I’m surprised she let us come alone. I thought for sure she’d send Greyback,” I remark as we dip down the passage to Knockturn Alley.

“I’m not,” Draco shrugs, smiling over at me. “Mother would let me go to the moon if you told her you’d be there too. She thinks you’ve got sway with the Dark Lord that keeps you and others around you safe.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think it’s foolish to disobey him.”

“I’m not disobeying, Draco. He said it was foolish to try and help, but he never forbid me from doing it.”

This gets a chuckle, Draco stopping just outside Borgin and Burkes to collect my face in his hands, “You should go into law.”

“Not certain there will be law to go into after all this.”

Draco shrugs, “I suppose it helps that you look dangerous. No one would cross you.”

“Dangerous?” I glance down at my short dress and heels.

Draco lowers a hand to run a finger over the sleeve of my jacket, the same one he got me for Christmas last year. It quickly became my favorite, “You always look dangerous in leather.”

“I’ll have to start dressing less dangerously. I’d hate to give anyone the wrong idea,” I joke.

“That would be unfair,” Draco teases back. “You should at least let people know what’s coming for them; some smoke before the fire.”

I bat his hand away, “Don’t use my father’s weak analogy against me.”

“I thought it was quite good, actually,” Draco’s eyes trail over me. “You are like fire. Pretty to look at, dangerous to play with, destroying anyone or anything in your way.”

“And yet you so willingly play,” I arch an eyebrow, daring him to answer my unspoken question.

He shakes his head, giving me a wink as he ushers me inside the shop and out of the rain, “What can I say? I’ve always found life without a little danger to be incredibly drab.”

There’s a thin layer of dust coating the entire shop. A distinctive musty scent assaults my nose as Draco and I stride up to the counter. As the fear of the Dark Lord grows, shops like these fall farther into ill repute. The evidence of such fear hangs in the air, twirling with the dust motes that dance in the tendrils of light that find their way through the clouded windows.

Draco clears his throat, purposely placing a crystal ball down in its holder harder than necessary. When no one appears he lets out a huff, turning his attention to a triangular cabinet sitting off to the left. He runs his hand over the intricately carved wood of the door, dusting his fingertips over the golden handle.

“Mr. Malfoy,” a wispy haired man ambles up from the back recesses of the store, scratching at his throat. “Miss Riddle. How may I help you?”

Draco turns, keeping his fingers pressed to the cabinet, “I’ve got an item like this. Unfortunately, it’s broken. I was wondering if you know how to fix it?”

“Possibly,” Borgin clears his throat; eyes jumping to the door as if hoping desperately that someone else would walk in to draw his attention. “I’ll need to see it, though. Why don’t you bring it into the shop?”

Draco frowns, walking over to lounge against the counter, “I can’t. It’s got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it.”

“Well – er – without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn’t guarantee anything.”

“No?” Borgin flinches backward as Draco sneers at him. “Perhaps this will make you more confident,”

Draco and I slide up our left sleeves, revealing the Dark Mark. The shopkeeper’s eyes bulge, his bottom lip trembling. A shaking hand lifts, reaching forward as if to touch us. I slap his hand away, giving him a steely look, “Tell anyone and there will be retribution.”

“You know Fenrir Greyback?” Draco continues on as he rolls his sleeve back down, his tone conversational. “He’s a family friend. He’ll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you’re giving the problem your full attention.”

Borgin takes in a sharp breath, his lips flapping open and closed as he stutters, “There will be no need for – ”

“I’ll decide that,” Draco snaps, locking his fingers between mine. “Well, we’d better be off. And don’t forget to keep that one safe, I’ll need it.”

“Perhaps you’d like to take it now?” Borgin suggests with an eager smile, his eyes sliding from Draco to the cabinet behind him.

“No, of course, I wouldn’t, you stupid little man,” Draco growls. “How would I look carrying that down the street? Just don’t sell it.”

“Of course not…sir.” After a second’s hesitation, Borgin bows to Draco.

“Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understood?”

“Naturally, naturally.” I don’t miss the relieved sigh that escapes his lips as we head towards the door. I’d think that a former employer of my father would be happy to be helping one of his followers out. Perhaps the man is going senile in his old age, forgetting where his loyalties should lie. Or perhaps, like me, he was simply hoping to move on from a checkered past, a past that never seems to want to be put to bed. 


	6. Devotion

Narcissa fusses the whole trip to King’s Cross Station. She asks us over and over if we’ve got everything, insisting she’ll send on anything we’ve left behind. Behind this motherly concern, I see she’s scared. Scared for her son’s life. Scared to be left on her own with the new inhabitants of her home. The life she’s accustomed to, that of security and comfort, is going to disappear. At least she realizes it.

Once on the platform, I send Draco off to find us a compartment, pulling Narcissa aside, “I’m going to look after him.”

“I know you will, dear. I know,” she takes my hands, squeezing them between her own. “Be careful, Isabelle. What you’re doing it’s – ”

But I already know. I’ve chosen my path and I don’t care to hear what dangers it holds, “I’ll be fine. I’m going to bring him home to you.”

“So brave for one so young,” she smiles but the sadness still lingers in her eyes. “You’re just children.”

Giving her hands a last squeeze, I hurry off to board the train that has already begun to emit plumes of crisp white smoke, gears engaging to leave. We’ll all be okay. I’ll help Draco. He’ll succeed. I’ll face the consequences of my actions. Draco will live. That’s all that matters.

I find Draco sitting in a compartment with Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and Blaise. He offers me his hand as I enter, bringing it to his lips as I sit down next to him. I give Draco and encouraging smile, patting my thighs, inviting him to lay his head there. I watch Pansy’s face as Draco settles himself along the bench, his head falling into my lap. Her eyes only linger for a second before turning to watch the station disappear.

“I’m looking for Blaise Zabini,” a blonde girl pokes her head into the compartment, a letter held in one hand.

Blaise tips forward, plucking the letter from between the girl’s fingers, “Thanks.” He pops the waxy seal, eyes sweeping over the parchment inside. “Apparently I’m wanted for lunch.”

“By who?” Pansy inquires, her eyes still trained out the window.

“Slughorn.”

The compartment is quiet. Draco’s eyes slide closed as I run my fingers over his forehead and through his hair. I’ve let him hold onto ignorance about his task. Perhaps it will be for the best. If it’s seen as an honor maybe it won’t weigh so heavy. Maybe it will shield him, at least for a little. I never saw us as young. I never saw us as children. Now, looking down at Draco’s face, his sharp jaw, gently sloping nose, and smooth, unblemished skin, I see it. We are young. Maybe that’s good too. People tend to underestimate children. My father certainly does. Young, but not stupid. Not inexperienced. Not incapable.

As the lunch trolley begins to make its rounds, Blaise leaves. I wake Draco gently, ducking my head down, my hair creating a dark curtain around our faces, “Do you want anything?”

“I’m not hungry,” Draco reaches into his pocket, pulling out a few shining coins. “Get yourself something though. You didn’t eat breakfast.”

I buy two jelly tarts. They’re Draco’s favorite and I know once he sees everyone else eating he’ll regret not getting anything. He gives me a smile, rolling his eyes as I drop the treat in his lap. “You’re going to make me fat.”

Shaking my head, I motion for his to lay back down, “I’m only ensuring you don’t wither away to nothing.”

“You sound like mother,” but the wrapping crinkles and Draco does pop a few broken off pieces into his mouth.

For now, I'm allowed to fuss, to look after him. I'll hold onto that as long as I can. When things get more difficult Draco will push back, it's in his nature. I'll have to be okay with that, be able to brush it off, to remind myself it means nothing. Draco was brought up to be stubbornly independent and prideful. As the stress of his task settles in I'll need to tread carefully. Any move I make could be taken as trying to steal his moment. While Draco may not mean to, he can be cruel and harsh. Perhaps starting off showing him all I want is for him to succeed, to be healthy and happy, will hold the pride and spite at bay. 

Blaise returns about an hour after he left, handing over two chocolate muffins to Crabbe and Goyle before turning to slide the compartment door shut. It rebounds a few inches off closed, flying back open. Blaise lets out a grunt of frustration, trying to force the door shut. He bangs it into an invisible blockage over and over. Grumbling under his breath, he takes the knob in both hands, putting his whole weight behind it. The door flies shut. Blaise has too much force left in him and careens into Goyle. The beefy boy hits Zabini over the head with his comic book, simultaneously trying to push the skinnier boy onto the floor.

“Watch what you’re doing next time,” Goyle grunts out, giving Blaise the cold shoulder as they both resettle into their seats.

“So,” Draco’s eyes flick away from the luggage racks, settling on Blaise, “Zabini what did Slughorn want?”

Blaise shrugs, “Just trying to make up to well-connected people. Not that he managed to find many.”

Draco frowns at this, “Who else has he invited?”

“McLaggen from Gryffindor,” Zabini continues on with the same bored tone.

“Oh yeah, his uncle’s big in the Ministry,” Draco nods in apparent approval.

“ – Someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw, and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl.” Blaise continues on with an unimpressed shrug. They aren’t people he’d usually acquaint himself with.

Draco sits suddenly, “He invited _Longbottom_?”

“Well, I assume so,” Blaise eyes Draco as if he’s contemplating his intelligence, “as Longbottom was there.”

“What’s Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?”

“His parents were Aurors,” I reply quietly.

Draco continues on as if I haven’t spoken, “Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at ‘ _the Chosen One_ ,’ but that Weasley girl! What’s so special about her?”

Blaise shrugs, shooting me a quick look, his eyebrow cocked up. I shrug in response as Draco settles back down, returning his head to my lap. Blaise has known Draco as long as I have. He should understand that being left out of anything, even meetings with unimportant people, brings out Draco’s jealous side.

“Well, I pity Slughorn’s taste. Maybe he’s going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn’t heard I’m on the train, or – ”

Blaise cuts him off with a shake of his head, “I wouldn’t bank on an invitation. He asked me about Nott’s father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, but when he heard he’d been caught at the Ministry he didn’t look happy, and Nott didn’t get an invitation, did he? I don’t think Slughorn’s interested in Death Eaters.”

“Watch yourself, Zabini,” I warn, shooting daggers at him.

If the words hurt Draco he doesn’t show it, letting out a huff of laughter, “Well, who cares what he’s interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher. I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what’s It matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?”

“What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?” Pansy, who has been mostly quiet through the train ride, demands, her eyes wide and wild.

“Well, you never know,” Draco answers with the ghosting’s of a smirk, his eyes twinkling up at me. “Isabelle and I might have – er – moved on to bigger and better things.”

Pansy’s eyes are nearly popping out of her skull, “Do you mean – _Him_?”

“Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don’t see it as that important these days,” Draco answers with a shrug. “I mean, think about it. When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.Ls or N.E.W.Ts anyone’s got? It’ll be about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown.”

Blaise lets out a humorless laugh, “Is one of those services shagging his daughter?”

I’m on my feet in an instant, wand jammed into Zabini’s chest, “I told you to watch yourself!”

Blaise swallows hard, his eyes downcast, “It was just a joke.”

“Learn to hold your tongue or you won’t have one anymore,” I snarl back.

Draco’s fingers curl around my shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze, “I can see Hogwarts. We’d better get our robes on.”

As the train’s breaks hiss, everyone in the compartment crowds into the already overfilled hall. Draco remains seated, his eyes once again fixed on the luggage rack. Standing in the compartment door, I frown at him, “Aren’t you coming?”

“Go ahead,” Draco waves a hand at me. “I’ll meet you on the platform. There’s something I want to see.”

I let myself be jostled towards the open door. Stepping out of the flow of students, I lean against the train side, stroking Helix’s nose through a gap in her carrier. Before I’m able to get too lost in thought, Draco joins me, tugging at the collar of his suit jacket to straighten it. He holds out his arm, waiting for me to link my elbow with his.

“What were you doing?”

Draco lets out a snort of laughter, “Potter was eavesdropping on us. I taught him some manners.”

“So he knows?” I question as Draco helps me into the back of a carriage.

He shrugs, “Don’t give him too much credit.”

Harry walks in after the shorting. There’s blood down the front of his shirt and he’s still in his muggle clothes. The room goes quiet, everyone watching as he hurries to his usual spot next to Ron and Hermione.

Draco lets out a cruel cackle, reenacting what happened on the train, much to the entertainment of our friends. Their laughter rises over the conversations. Draco imitates Harry’s stupid, shocked look as he lay there bleeding out on the train floor.

“Now, now, Draco, don’t gloat,” I chide playfully, giving him a wink.

Pansy lets out another shrill laugh, eyeing Draco with nothing but admiration, “I think it’s hilarious.”

“Funny,” I stare her down, pleased when the smile wipes itself from her horse-like features. “I don’t remember anyone asking for your opinion.”

As the last of the feast dishes disappear, Dumbledore stands, throwing his arms out to draw everyone’s attention. It’s the same thing every year; dark times, be united, there’s still hope. It almost sounds like he believes it.


	7. Independent Study

Breakfast the next morning is a chaotic swirl of teachers and paper. While our first five years were mapped out for us, all our classes pre-chosen, sixth year is different. We’re allowed to choose what we’d like to continue with. Snape sweeps his way up and down our table, leaning over students and scribbling out various schedules. He comes to Draco and I last. 

He holds his hand out expectantly, snatching away our lists to turn them over with cold, nearly judgmental eyes. He nods at Draco’s and I expect him to do the same with mine. Draco and I agreed to take the same classes. This way we’ll be able to help each other out. It takes the workload and splits it in half, allowing him to have more time to focus on his actual goal for this school year. 

Instead of handing back my schedule, Severus continues to study it. His eye narrow as he reads over the last line. I added that one late last night. I figured I’d need something, someplace to be alone, to think. I remembered the peaceful stillness of the Forbidden Forest the day Hagrid took us to visit the Thestrals. That will be my place. 

“Care of Magical Creatures,” Snape looks down at me, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” 

“I was hoping to ask Hagrid if I could do an independent study.” 

Severus lets out a long breath, handing the parchment back, “If that’s what you want. Ask Hagrid. If he agrees we’ll add it to your schedule. Mr. Malfoy, I’d like a word with you in my office after breakfast.” 

“You didn’t tell me you were taking Care of Magical Creatures,” Draco grumbles as I head towards the front doors. I’ve got about an hour before class starts and figure there’s no time like the present to talk with Hagrid.

Shrugging, I lean against the stone wall, “I didn’t think you’d want to take it with me. The creatures make me feel calm. I feel closer to Sirius around them.” 

“Oh,” Draco’s hard stare falls, his eyes softening. Reaching forward, he tucks a few loose strands of hair behind my ear. “Well, in that case, I hope you’re able to do your study. I’ll see you in Potions.” 

Tipping forward, I press a kiss to his forehead, “Are you doing to see Severus?” 

Draco lets out a scoff, his lips twitching up in a mischievous smirk, “No.” 

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble,” I laugh back, giving his hand a squeeze before slipping out the front doors. 

Hagrid isn’t there when I knock on the door. Not all that put off, I wander into the pumpkin patch. A set of soft blue eyes blink at me, the creature’s beak clicking together as I give it a gentle bow. Buckbeak stands, shoving his head against my outstretched hand. Besides the ring, the Hippogriff is all I’ve got left of Sirius. I got word he left everything to Harry. That seems fair. I don’t deserve anything. 

“He seems ter like ya,” a gruff voice sounds behind me. 

I turn my head, continuing to stroke Buckbeak’s neck, “Oh yes, we’re old friends.” 

“Much happier out ‘ere then ‘e was all cooped up in tha’ old house,” Hagrid answers, coming to stand next to me. He unhooks a ferret from the clip on his belt, tossing it in the air. Buckbeak clicks his beak happily, lunging forward to snatch the snack from the air. 

“Indeed,” stepping away from Buckbeak, I turn fully to look at Hagrid. He smiles at me, but I can tell he’s confused as to why I’m here. He rocks his weight from the balls of his feet to his heels, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. “Hagrid, you don’t suppose I could do an independent study?” 

“With who?” 

“With you, on Thestrals,” I let out a laugh. “I assume the ones we nicked last year have returned.” 

“Sure did,” Hagrid’s eyes narrow, “This don’ have anythin’ ter do with Sirius, does it?” 

Coughing, I reach around to pat Buckbeak on the head to stop him from pecking at my shoulder, “I find them fascinating and comforting. It’s okay if you say no.” 

“Not gonna say no,” Hagrid answers with a wide smile. He seems genuinely pleased that I’m showing an interest in continuing the course. Hopefully, that will do enough to keep him from asking more questions I’d rather not answer. “When’ve ya got a free period?” 

“Just after lunch,” Digging into my robe pocket, I pull out the parchment Severus gave me for Hagrid to sign. “I just need you to fill this out. I’ve got to turn it into Snape.” 

“Sound okay ter me,” Hagrid takes the paper, beginning to dig around in his jacket pocket. He tosses out a few dog treats, bits of a broken teapot, and something that looks like chewed gum before finding a quill. He scribbles his name across the bottom of the parchment before handing it back, “Say Tuesday and Thursday jus’ after lunch. Yer welcome ter visit ‘em more often o’ course n’ come say hello ter Buck – er Weatherwings whenever ye’d like.”

“That’ll work, Hagrid,” Leaning forward, I press my cheek to Buckbeak’s neck, silently promising to come visit again soon. “Have a pleasant day.” 

Draco is waiting for me outside the open door of the Potions room. He picks my bag up from the floor, holding it out to me, “How’d your meeting with Hagrid go?” 

“Just fine. He agreed to let me do the study, Tuesday and Thursday just after lunch. How did avoiding Severus go?” 

Draco rolls his eyes, “He corned me coming out of the common room.” 

“What did he want?” 

“He was trying to meddle in my business.” 

The Potions room has an unnatural lightness to it. Slughorn has cleared most of the shelving out, a large display of candles sitting on the shelves of those that remain. The teacher’s table is set up with a splay of various potions. It doesn’t even feel like we’re in the same space. 

Slughorn smiles when he notices Draco and me, waiving us forward, “If I could just get your names, please. For my list.” 

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” 

Our new teacher’s eyes slide over to me, nodding encouragingly, “And you?” 

“Riddle. Isabelle Riddle.” 

The quill falls from Slughorn’s fingers, rolling down the parchment, leaving behind a smudge of black. He clears his throat, laughing nervously. His eyes don’t meet mine again as he collects himself, placing a mark next to my name. I’m not unfamiliar with Horace Slughorn. Though my father talks very little of his time at Hogwarts, I have heard the professor’s name mentioned once or twice. Apparently, he was the brilliant man who gave my father the information he needed to ensure he could never die. Just as he isn’t forgotten to my father, I’m sure my father isn’t forgotten to Slughorn. Either that or he’s much more squirrely than people described him as. 

Once he’s gotten everyone marked off the list and added two new names, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, Slughorn stands. He looks slightly blurry through the fumes rising from the various potions sitting in front of him. 

“Now then, now then, scales out, everyone, and potions kits, and don’t forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making.” 

“Um, sir,” Harry’s hand is held in the air, an uncertain look on his face. “I haven’t got a book or scales or anything – nor’s Ron – we didn’t realize we’d be able to do the N.E.W.T., you see – ”

Draco lets out a breath of laughter as he sets up his station, “Obviously perfect Potter isn’t so perfect after all.” 

I shoot another glance in Harry’s direction before switching seats at the table. Though I might still be able to feel the daggers he’s shooting at me, it’ll be substantially more comfortable if I’m not worried about looking up and seeing them the whole class. He can’t know I’m sorry about Sirius’s death, that I miss the man too. Even if I was allowed to tell him, I hardly doubt Harry would care to hear it. He’s painted me as the villain here and I suppose he’s got every right to. For all intents and purposes, I am. 

“Now then,” Slughorn draws the attention of the class once Harry and Ron are settled. “I’ve prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of things you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.Ts. You ought to have heard of ‘em, even if you haven’t made ‘em yet.” He motions to the cauldron closest to the table Draco and I took. “Can anyone tell me what this one is?” 

Right on cue, Hermione’s hand shoots up in the air. She doesn’t even wait for Slughorn to call on her before the answer bursts from her lips, “It’s Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth.” 

“Very good! Very good!” Slughorn praises with a large smile, moving off to a potion bubbling nastily. “This one?” 

Once again, Granger is the fastest to the draw, “It’s Polyjuice Potion, sir.” 

Draco straightens up at this, craning his neck just a little to get a better look at the cauldron. I slide my hand across the table, brushing my fingertips against the side of his hand, “What’re you thinking?” 

“Well,” he leans towards me as Slughorn praises Hermione once again, moving onto another potion. His voice is barely above a whisper; “If we had Crabbe and Goyle as guards we’d know when it was safe to come out of the room. Wouldn’t it be better if it weren’t always Crabbe and Goyle?” 

I shoot a look back over to the cauldron. I’ve never had a need to learn how to make Polyjuice Potion, but I assume if it’s N.E.W.T level it’s tricky and probably requires a substantial brew time, “I’ll look into what ingredients we’ll need. Your mother will probably have to send them to us.” 

“Why waste time making it when we’ve got a perfectly good supply right there?” 

Raising an eyebrow, I study his face, trying to tell if he’s bluffing, “And how do you suppose you’re going to get some?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco gives my hand a quick squeeze before turning his attention back to Slughorn. 

“Amortentia doesn’t really create love, of course,” Slughorn states, likely talking about the potion he’s now standing behind. Thin tendrils of misty white smoke twirl up from the surface. “It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room.” 

Slughorn slides the lid of the cauldron back over it, cutting off the pleasant smell of earth after rainfall and rich wine wafting from it, “And now, it is time for us to start work.” 

“Sir,” Ernie Macmillan, a disgustingly pompous Gryffindor, rises a little from his seat, pointing to a tiny vile of gold liquid. “You haven’t told us what’s in that one.” 

Our new professor chuckles lightly as if enjoying a joke only he understands, “This is Felix Felicis, Liquid Luck.” He lifts the little bottle so everyone can see. “This is what I offer to the person who, in the hour we have left, can make a perfect draught of Living Death. The ingredients and instructions can be found on page ten of your book.” 

With the promise of one perfect day, the class flies into action. While I pride myself on being one of the better potions students, I feel utterly on my own here without Severus shooting little hints my way. He’s been through almost every potions book there is, changing certain instructions, adding and subtracting ingredients to make the potions more or less potent. Slughorn seems content to leave everyone to their own devices, making a point to not look over at Draco and me. 

“Is yours lumpy on the bottom?” Draco questions as Slughorn informs us we’ve got fifteen minutes left. 

I prod my spoon around the bottom of my cauldron, “I don’t think so.” 

The liquid inside is a deep purple, almost verging on black. The book says it should be shimmering pale lilac. Somewhere along the line, I must’ve done something wrong, not added enough of a certain ingredient. I skim back over the page, trying to find my mistake, hoping I can correct it. 

“Take these,” Draco slides two empty jars across the table.

“What do I need these for?” 

He shoots a look over at Slughorn, “I’m going to call him over and ask if he knows why it’s lumpy. I need you to fill these with the Polyjuice Potion. I’d do it, but apparently you know what you’re doing.” 

“Alright,” I tuck the jars into my robe pockets. 

I wait for Slughorn to amble over to Draco. Thankfully, he turns his back to me, looking over the page and having Draco go through what he did step by step. Silently, I slip off my stool, keeping an eye on the rest of the class. Everyone still seems lost in their work. Hermione’s hair is frizzed out around her head, giving her a slightly mad look. Slipping the two jars from my pocket, I quickly dip them into the Polyjuice Potion, grimacing at it coats my fingers. 

Capping the jars, I wipe my hands off on the inside of my robes, slipping back into my seat just as Slughorn turns around. He jumps a little as if he’s forgotten I’m there. His eyes slide to my cauldron, “I don’t think you added enough Sopophorous bean juice, my dear.” 

At the end of the hour, Slughorn makes his rounds, dropping a feather into the top of every cauldron that looks like it may hold an adequate potion. He lets out a wild chuckle as he approaches Harry. I can hear the sizzle of the feather as it hits the top. Slughorn beams. 

“Well, done, Harry. Well done,” he reaches into his robes. The little vial of golden liquid shimmers in the light for just a second before Harry snatches it up. As if perfect Potter really needed any more luck.


	8. The Room of Requirement

“Did you get the stuff?” Draco questions later that night, sitting down next to me on a couch in the common room.

I pull two jars of muddy green liquid from my robes, “This stuff is vile, Draco.”

“Yeah well,” he shrugs, opening on of the jars and pouring a bit into two cups. From inside his robes, he pulls two smaller vials, dumping the contents of one into each cup. “We’re not the ones drinking it.”

I watch as the liquid bubbles, each taking on a deep purple tone, “What did you promise Crabbe and Goyle for this?”

“Told them they’d be helping the Dark Lord. That seemed to be enough. You know who their parents are.”

Right on cue, the two boys push their way into the common room, settling into chairs across from the couch. Their gazes instantly fall on the two cups, Goyle’s nose crinkling in disgust. Crabbe stomps on his foot before he can say anything.

“How long will we have,” I question, pushing the cups towards Crabbe and Goyle with the tip of my wand.

Draco shrugs again, tossing an apple back and forth between his hands, “An hour or two. We won’t need the whole time tonight though. I just want to make sure it’s there, see just how badly it’s broken. Once I know I’ll write Borgin. He should be able to give me the instructions on how to fix it.”

His self-assured tone settles my nerves a little. Draco spent our time between going into Diagon Alley and leaving for school doing extensive research on Vanish Cabinets. So long as the thing isn’t busted into pieces, we’re both fairly certain it’s not, Draco is sure he can mend it. That’s the easy part of this though. We’ve still got to come up with a plan to off Dumbledore.

Most of the ones we came up with over the summer have been scrapped. There was the obvious, cornering him, finding a way into his office, luring him away. While those were the most straightforward, they also presented the most problems of discovery. Without an escape route or people in the castle to act as back up, we’d surely be caught. Our other plans were scrapped after finding out about the increased security measures. Any plans to hand over a cursed item or bring any kind of poison into the school were thrown out as well. There’s no way we’d get it past the enhanced enchantments now surrounding the school. For now, that portion of our plan is on hold.

“Drink that,” Draco gives Crabbe and Goyle a pointed look. “I want to get going.”

I watch in mute horror as the two boys choke down the Polyjuice Potion. Almost instantly their skin starts to boil. They both shrink, swimming in their robes. Their hair shoots down, changing color as it grows. A few moments later two young girls, both blonde, blink back at us.

The one I think is Goyle stares down at his hand, eyes wide, lips trembling, “This is reversible, right?”

“Of course it is,” Draco snaps, an edge of annoyance in his voice. “Now, Isabelle and I are going to go ahead. You wait five minutes before following. The room is on the seventh floor, across from a tapestry with a bunch of trolls. Just sit outside. When I’m ready to come out I’ll knock once. You knock back twice if it’s safe, once if it isn’t. Don’t talk to anyone and don’t wander.”

Crabbe nods, “Twice for safe, once for not.”

“And find some new robes. You two look like idiots,” Draco shoots back before offering me his hand and leading us to the door. “Five minutes.”

Draco and I slink silently through the castle. He keeps his hand in mine, squeezing when he wants me to stop, tugging gently when we’re supposed to move again. I let him lead though I know the path like the back of my hand. We only run into the Bloody Barron who seems too engrossed in the mumbled conversation he’s having with himself to notice us.

We stop abruptly and it takes me a second to realize we’ve made it. The walk always seemed so much longer when I was taking it alone. Draco stares at he blank stretch of wall, his eyes closed, lips moving rapidly.

“You’ve got to walk in front of it.” He continues on with his mumbling, seeming to have not heard me. I give his hand a squeeze, “Draco.”

“What?”

“You’ve got to walk. Back and forth three times thinking about what you need,” It sounds very childish, whispered into the silence of the corridor, like I’m trying to have a laugh at his expense.

Instead of arguing, Draco steps away from me, pacing quickly up and down the hall. On the third pass, a door pushes its way out of the wall. I stare at the smoothly carved stone, taking in the pattern of vines and leaves. With one last look up the hall, Draco retakes my hand, leading us inside.

The smell of old parchment assaults my nose. Everywhere are piles of broken furniture and hidden remnants of charms gone wrong. Off to my left is a rusting birdcage, its inhabitants preening each other and cooing gently. The image of someone getting lost in here crosses my mind, but I push it away quickly. Draco seems to know where he’s going.

He leads me confidently through rows of haphazardly stacked shelves, broken crystal balls, partially melted candles, and textbooks that look like they’ve had a botched shred job. I’m so caught up in taking in everything around us that I don’t notice that Draco has stopped. He gently pulls me back to him; wrapping his arms around me, chin resting on my shoulder. His eyes stay trained on the black and white patterned curtain hanging before us, fingers pulling through the ends of my hair.

“Just like Montague said.”

“This is it?”

Draco hums back a response, reaching out and curling his fingers around a fistful of the curtain. It floats to the ground in a cloud of dust. Behind it is an identical cabinet to the one in Borgin and Burkes. Slowly, I lift my hand, stroking down the line of the opening. The magic surrounding it feels wrong, crackling like electricity. As Draco goes to open it, I get the sudden urge to flee, to leave this tomb of discarded items and never look back. An enchantment or my own nerves? I imagine a whole slew of evil things slipping out and curl my fingers around the handle of my wand, ready for a fight. But the room stays quiet, nothing slithering into existence as Draco opens the other door of the cabinet. The breath I’ve been holding slips out in a sigh. I need to get myself together. We’ve not even done anything yet. I’ve got to be here to help Draco. If I get flighty I won’t be able to do that.

Draco fishes the apple out of his robe pocket, handing it out to me, “Would you like to do the honors?”

“It’s your task,” I force out, trying not to sound harsh.

He chuckles, tossing the fruit into the air, catching it easily, “Just bite into it. I need proof that Borgin isn’t sending a new one through.”

“Oh,” I take the apple, sinking my teeth through the shiny green skin.

Chewing slowly, I watch as Draco places the fruit on one of the shelves, shutting the doors. He pulls out his wand, touching the tip to the engraved wood, “ _Harmonia Nectre Passus_.”

There’s a rush of air behind the closed doors. When Draco opens them again, the apple is gone. He smiles, “Well, at least we know we can send things through.”

“We already knew that,” I comment, thinking back to Montague’s story from last year. It seems that it’s not the going through that’s the issue. It’s the getting there and coming back that’s the challenge. Something in the connection must be broken.

Draco rolls his eyes at my lack of enthusiasm, shutting the doors and whispering the spell to call the item back. Another rush of air. Another moment of hesitation. Another sigh of relief.

“Well,” Draco snatches the apple back off the shelf, inspecting the shiny green side. “It looks fine.”

But I can see what he can’t. Staring back at me is a black pit where I took a bite out of it. The skin folds in on itself, white mold creeping over the exposed flesh. Hesitantly, I take the apple from Draco, my stomach rolling as I twist it around for him to see. This might be harder than we both thought.


	9. A Gift for Dumbledore

We fall into a routine. Breakfast. Classes. Lunch. Classes. Dinner. Planning. Room of Requirement. Day after day. Each night is more disappointment. More rotten apples. Draco draws into himself, losing confidence with each failed attempt. Borgin was practically no help. He sent over generic instructions, insisting it’ll work with time. Time we don’t have. As Draco's confidence slips so does his health. He misses meals and classes, locking himself away in the dorm room. He visits the hospital wing just enough to get the excuses he needs.

I do my best to encourage him, but it’s not enough. He’s begun to doubt himself and nothing I say or do can change that. Instead of hounding him with constant praise, I offer myself as someone to listen and continue to bounce ideas off of. With no forward progress on the cabinet, we turn our attention back to assassinating Dumbledore.

“We could poison him,” I offer up, flipping through my Potions book for ideas.

Draco flops back against the bed, feet propped up against the wall, head in my lap, “Too risky. Having to brew it and then ensure he drank enough. Too many variables.”

“Well, that’s all I’ve got,” I snap the book shut, looking down at Draco. “Have you got anything?”

He twists a strand of my hair around his finger, turning the tip purple, “Do you remember that necklace in Borgin and Burkes? The one with the pearls and rubies, you thought it was pretty.”

“What about it?”

“It was cursed, right?”

“I think so. We can’t get that into the school though.”

Draco smiles, gently flicking the tip of my nose, “We don’t need it in the school.”

“Enough with the dramatics, Draco,” I laugh, crinkling my nose at him.

He cranes his neck, nipping at my tongue, which is stuck out at him, “There’s a mailroom in Hogsmeade. We can have Borgin send it there.”

“And then what? Walk up to Dumbledore and hand it over?” I question, not convinced he’s thoroughly thought this one through.

Draco lets out a scoff, “Of course not. We hand it off to someone, have them deliver it. No way it can come back on us. If Filch stops them at the gate we’ll have them say it’s a present for Dumbledore. Either Filch will take it and give it to the headmaster or Dumbledore will come down and examine it himself. The man’s a fool.”

“We can’t be seen in Hogsmeade that day.”

“ _Or_ ,” Draco flips over, leaning in close to me, “We need to be seen a lot, at the exact time the package is being brought up to the castle.”

Chewing on my lip, I mull it over. It’s probably not the best plan, but it’s what we’ve got. It could work. No one will think to go to the post. If Draco and I are seen throughout the day, during the time whoever will be our mule brings the thing up to the castle no one will suspect us.

Smiling, I nod, “Alright. Let’s do it.”

~~~~~~~~

“Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall glared down at my boyfriend, “No homework, again?”

Draco avoids her gaze, rubbing his pinkie along a rut in the desktop, “Forgot.”

“That’s three times. Perhaps detention, this Saturday, will help you remember.”

He snaps his head up, mouth hanging open, “Saturday is the Hogsmeade visit.”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall nods. “A perfect time to make up the essays, the castle should be nice and quiet.”

Well, there goes our plan.

Draco is in a foul mood the rest of the day. I leave him to his brooding, trying to figure out how we can still go through with this. The parcel is probably already sitting in the mailroom. Borgin confirmed he would send it out immediately, warning us to be extremely careful not to touch the necklace with bare hands. Leaving it just sit there would be dangerous. It wouldn’t necessarily be suspicious to go into Hogsmeade by myself, but people would likely notice. I’m not often without Draco. At this point, I might not have a choice though.

“Come here to lecture me about not doing my assignments?” Draco grumbles as I perch on the edge of his bed.

I shrug, “I don’t give a shit if you do your classwork or not.”

“Then what?”

“I just wanted to let you know I’m still going to do it. I’ll go into Hogsmeade, get the package, give it someone, and come back.”

Draco’s eyes flicker over me, “You need to stay in Hogsmeade until it’s back in the castle.”

“I don’t plan on letting anyone see me. For all intents and purposes, I won’t have been in Hogsmeade at all.”

“I don’t follow.”

It’s a risk, but I think I can pull it off. Draco will be in detention all day. He won’t come looking for me until late. Once he leaves, I’ll slip off to the Room of Requirement. I shouldn’t be disturbed there. As long as I don’t find another person like Potter, I should be able to possess any of the students in Hogsmeade. I was really hoping Draco wouldn’t ask questions. I still don’t want to tell him about my gift. It’s better for him not to know.

“Just trust me. I can do this.”

I end up walking Draco to his detention. It’ll be better if I’ve got a teacher who can confirm I wasn’t in Hogsmeade. Sure, it’s a little paranoid, but I don’t want to take any risks. This can’t come back on Draco and me.

Professor McGonagall eyes me as I say goodbye to Draco at the door. “You aren’t going into Hogsmeade, Miss Riddle?”

Offering the politest smile I can, I shrug, “Not as much fun with no one to go with.”

She gives me a final once over, before directing Draco to a seat and shutting the door. With that taken care of, I head up to the seventh floor. The room I’m given is nothing more than a broom closet but it’ll be sufficient for what I need to do. I had a moment of panic last night, worrying that the protective charms surrounding Hogwarts wouldn’t let me do this. Yet, as I close my eyes, I feel my soul slide out of my body. It’s not apparition. This is going to work.

I soar towards Hogsmeade, glancing over a few of the younger students. They’d be the least conspicuous to deliver the item, but I worry that the postman won’t give them the parcel. Out of habit, I wind my way to the Three Broomsticks. There’s bound to be someone in there that'll do.

It’s still fairly empty. Everyone is just leaving the castle. The chill hasn’t set in yet. Then I see her, pushing her way out of the backroom, arms full of cases of Butterbeer. Better than waiting around all day. Soaring across the room, I slip into the barkeep. Her soul is warm and inviting, stepping right out of the way for me. Easy peasy, just like it’s supposed to be.

Discarding the cases of Butterbeer, I slip out the back door. There are no problems with getting the parcel. The boy behind the counter barely even looks up, simply sliding the parcel across the counter. I tuck the package in the folds of Madam Rosmerta’s dress and head back to the Three Broomsticks. A few kids waive and I do my best to paint of the usual cheery smile I see the bar owner wearing.

Now to get the parcel to someone else. I can’t just have Rosmerta hand it over, though that would be the easiest option. Gossip flies through Hogwarts. They’d be down here questioning Rosmerta before the end of the day. It’ll be best if I can wipe the memory of whomever I give the parcel to. Madam Rosmerta’s never done anything to warrant me having a grudge against her. I don’t necessarily want her in trouble for any of this.

Standing behind the bar, I watch the various students milling around, trying to figure out the best place to do this. If I’m being honest with myself, I should’ve thought this whole thing through a little better. I knew what I needed to do, but didn’t look past that. It was stupid. I let ego take over logic. It makes me no better than the people I’m fighting against.

But I’m here now and I’ve got to make this work. I can’t just leave Madam Rosmerta with the necklace. I can’t think out here with all the noise. It’s like the humming of a million bees and it’s driving me mad. Sliding out from behind the bar, I slip into the loo. At least in here, it’ll be quiet. I’ll have some time to strategize without being interrupted.

I absolutely have to get rid of the necklace. At this point, I’m not concerned with who ends up with it. The first person to walk through that door will be good enough. Hand the necklace off, put Rosmerta back behind the bar and get back to my own body. I need to be seen around the castle before that necklace gets close enough to be detected. The door swings open, some girl promising her friend she’ll be right back.

Slowly, I tilt around the stall wall, searching through the pockets of Madam Rosmerta’s dress for her wand. As the girl stands at the sink, I slink up behind her, “It's unwise to go anywhere without a friend in these times. _Imperio_.”

She slumps forward a little, eyes going cloudy.

Hopping up on the sink, I smile down at the girl; Katie Bell. Not my first choice, but it beats spending the rest of my day inside Madam Rosmerta stuck in this bathroom, “Hello, Katie. I need you to do something for me.”

Katie blinks back at me.

“Good girl,” I slide the parcel across the sink, watching as Katie picks it up, examining the wrapping. “Now, I need you to deliver that to Dumbledore for me, okay? If they stop you going back into the castle you’re doing to demand to see Dumbledore. He has to get that. Understand?”

She nods.

“Don’t let anyone open it. Don’t open it yourself,” I slide off the sink, grasping Katie by her shoulders. “If asked, you won’t remember this conversation. You won’t remember who gave you the parcel. The only thing you’ll remember is that it has to go to Dumbledore.”

With one last nod, Katie picks up the parcel and leaves the loo. Mission complete. Time to get the hell out of here.


	10. The Beginning of the End

Word about what happened spreads quickly. Katie didn’t even make it back to the castle. From what I’ve heard, her friend and her got into some kind of argument. The package spilled open and Katie ended up touching the necklace. She’s been taken to St. Mungos for treatment. No one knows if she’ll be cured. 

To my surprise, Draco isn’t angry. He hardly says anything about it besides it isn’t my fault and that we’ll come up with something else. I can see he’s worried though. Severus has been hounding him about coming to his office. He’s falling behind in classes. Not sleeping or eating. Most days I can’t even find him. 

I do my best to ease the burden he’s carrying. The papers I write for him turn up on his desk, the teachers collecting them with no questions. I make excuses for him when he doesn’t show up in classes, sending questioning friends away. As far as everyone is concerned, Draco is just having a hard time thinking about his father being in Azkaban, worried about his mother at home alone. I think they all buy it about as much as I do. 

Our nightly visits to the Vanishing Cabinet happen in almost complete silence. Each time it’s the same. Draco wanders into the common room, takes my hand, and leads me up to the Room of Requirement. We spend hours sending apples through, only to have them come back black and rotting. It does nothing for Draco’s crumbling confidence. 

The only time I’m able to shed the crippling anxiety and guilt is in the Forbidden Forest. Surrounded by the trees, the sounds of strong, steady heartbeats, I feel calm. I try and find time to go at least once a day, even for a few minutes. The Thestrals are getting used to me. They wander over of their own accord, settling down next to me. I’ll lean against a tree and feed them little bits of ferret and forget that outside this forest my whole world is falling apart. 

“Hello, Isabelle,” Luna wanders into the clearing, her bare feet squelching in the mud. 

I keep my eyes closed, fingers threaded through the thin mane of one of the Thestrals. I’m used to Luna being down here. She doesn’t fit in with her classmates. She feels most normal out here in the forest, surrounded by creatures who don’t judge her based on what she wears, who don’t understand the fantastical things that come out of her mouth. 

Just like everything else out here, I find Luna’s presence comforting. I expected her to leave the first time she saw me. I know what they all think. It’s justified. Either Luna has too many thoughts swirling around in her head to remember or she just doesn’t care. She always seems to appear when I’m down here, sitting next to me. Sometimes we talk, mostly we don’t. 

“Hi, Luna.” 

“Is Draco feeling any better?” Luna’s dreamy voice breaks the silence. “I went to visit Myrtle and heard him crying in the next stall over.” 

Apparently we’re talking today, “I’m sure you’ve heard his father is in Azkaban. He’s just taking it hard. Draco really looks up to his dad.” 

“I won’t tell anyone,” Luna responds, likely picking up on the bitterness in my words, in the unspoken warning.

“Appreciate it.” 

“I like your tattoo.” 

Instinctively, my hand goes to the cuff of my left arm, ready to pull it down, to explain away whatever she saw. Instead, her gaze is on the moon, “Oh, thanks.” 

We fall back into a silence. For a while, I almost forget Luna is with me, entranced with watching the creatures now settling to the ground to take a nap. They sleep huddled together, the young in the middle of the small circle they make. The male sleep just in front of the group, head lowered, but eyes still trained on me, tail swishing with each new sound. 

“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” Luna announces as she gets up, dusting the dirt off her pants, managing to streak some across her face as she gathers her hair in a bun. 

“Yeah, well, I am, Luna,” I force out, willing myself to look away from her soft eyes; from the forgiving smile she’s offering. “You were there. You saw.”

She frowns, tipping back and forth on bare feet, smudging her face further as she rubs at her cheek, “I think you’ve been put in a particularly difficult situation. But your heart is good. I can sense it.” 

Moaning Myrtle is in the dorm bathroom when I return to the castle. She perches on the sink next to mine, large eyes blinking out at me from behind her glasses. She lets out little hems of disapproval as I wash my hands. 

“Draco’s been asking for you,” Myrtle finally blurts out in her usual airy, judgmental tone. 

I turn to her, “Where is he?” 

“Crying again.” 

“Where, Myrtle? I don’t have time for the games.” 

Her eyes begin to blink rapidly, welling up with tears as she begins to sniff. Dammit. I’ve heard Myrtle’s sensitive, but I didn’t know it was this bad. The girl is a regular crybaby. 

“Myrtle,” I reach forward, stopping my hand at the last second, quickly shoving it behind my back. “I’m sorry, okay? Why don’t you take me to him?” 

She sniffs, wiping at her eyes with the hem of her robes, “I’ll tell you, but only because I feel bad for him. Poor boy.” 

“Thank you, Myrtle, really.” 

“He’s in the second floor bathroom.” 

Nodding to Myrtle, I take off at a full sprint, swinging around the corner and bolting out of the common room. I fly up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I hate the idea of him being in there alone. I knew he wasn’t doing all right, sinking into himself, but I never realized it had gotten this bad. 

“Draco?” I push the door open, looking around for him. “Are you in here?” 

I gently push the stall doors open, shooting a glance inside each one. Frowning, I continue down the row, each one as empty as the next. Just as I’m beginning to think Myrtle lied to me, I spot him. Curled in the corner, knees pulled up to his chest, face hidden, shoulders jumping with sobs. 

Dropping to my knees, I reach for him slowly, gently running my fingers through his hair, “Draco, it’s me.” 

“Isabelle,” he breaths out a sigh of relief, pulling me close to his side, burying his face in crook of my neck, “Isabelle.” 

I don’t need to see his face to know he’s crying. The warm liquid bleeds against my skin, soaking into the collar of my shirt. His whole body trembles, clutching onto me like I’m what’s keeping him tethered. 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I’m here.” 

Draco’s head flies up, “He tried to blame me. Snape told me. He told Professor McGonagall.” 

“What? Who are you talking about? Draco, what is going on?” 

He sniffs, attacking his eyes and cheeks with the back of his sleeve, skin turning any angry red under the assault, “Potter.” 

“You had detention, Draco,” I capture his hands, running my thumb along his knuckles. “This won’t come back on you. Let Potter talk, that’s all it is.” 

Draco swallows, his face twisting up, “They’re looking into where you were. Snape said.” 

“It won’t come back on either of us, Draco. I promise.” 

He’s silent for a while, eyes searching my face, the sadness and pain in them breaking my heart. He doesn’t deserve this; this fear, this unbearable burden, this impossible task. 

“He’ll kill me, Bell; mother, father, me. He’ll kill all of us.” 

I pull him tighter against me, stroking his cheek, “Shh, I won’t let him hurt you. I promise.” 

“You can’t promise something like that,” Draco spits back through gritted teeth, getting to his feet. “Don’t lie to me!” 

I stand too, cupping his cheek in my palm, “It’s okay to be scared, Draco.” 

“I’m not scared!” Draco jerks away from me, his fingers balling into a fist. “Don’t come in here and tell me what to be. It must be so easy for you!” He draws his arm back, the muscles shaking with tension. “You’re his favorite. He’d never hurt you!” 

I stare back at him, preparing myself. Draco’s never hit me, never even threatened violence. I’ll take this though. I’ll take it because I know his words are true. My father will never punish me like this. I’m too important to his little tantrum; his secret weapon. 

“Are you going to hit me, Draco, show me a little of the pain you’re in?” I continue to stare him down, refusing to look away, refusing to show any fear, to give away any hint at just how much this is going to shatter me. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go on. Do it. Hit me.” 

I flinch as his fist flies past me, landing with a sickening crack against the side of the toilet stall. Draco lets out a wail that cuts through me like a knife before collapsing against me in another round of sobs. “I’m sorry, Bell. Fuck. I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” I rub small circles into his back, biting into my lip to stop my own tears from spilling over. Sticky sweet metal fills my mouth. “You’re okay. You didn’t do it. Everything’s gonna be okay.” 

I just wish I could really believe it. Even if Draco succeeds, he’ll never be the same. If he does this, things may never be okay again.


	11. Dumbledore's Plan

We both wake early the next morning, deciding to skip breakfast to go to visit the Vanishing Cabinet. I perch atop a rickety table, watching as Draco works. He’s decided to abandon Borgin’s instructions, instead using various charms he found in a book about repairing magical objects. We’re both hoping something he read will work.

Thin wisps of golden light surround the cabinet, sinking into the wood slowly. The cabinet does look healthier. The wood, once dull and cracked, now shines in the little rays of light that filter into the room. Even the hinges on the doors slide past each other easier, no more shriek of metal against metal.

Draco glances over at me a few times while he works and I offer him a smile or a wink or a thumbs up every time he does. I know he needs encouragement. Last night's episode in the bathroom still clings to him; in the way his hands shake, in the deep purple bags under his eyes, in the way his return smile is hesitant. He thinks I’m angry with him.

“We should go ahead and send the apple through,” Draco announces once the golden shine has completely disappeared from around the cabinet.

I toss it over to him, “As soon as this works we should move onto something live, with a heartbeat.”

“I’m not sending you through,” Draco repeats his earlier sentiment.

We’re behind on fixing the cabinet. My father was hoping to have Death Eaters in the school by Christmas. We’re not even close to that. I’ve volunteered to send myself through a couple of times, but Draco always adamantly disagrees. He thinks it’s too dangerous, his argument always being that if the apple turns up decayed I will too. That usually puts an end to the conversation.

Getting up, I wander towards the front of the room. The birdcage is still there; its occupants trilling quietly to each other. Sliding open the door, I capture one of the little bluebirds between my hands. I ensure the cage door is shut tight before walking back to Draco, “We can send these through. We’ve got four and I’m pretty sure the room will give us more if we need them.”

“Yeah,” Draco reaches forward, running his fingertip over the bird’s tiny head. It tweets at him, eyes squeezing shut. “Okay. We’ll send the birds, but only if the apple comes back fine. I don’t want to waste them.”

“Whatever you want.”

I let the bird hop around on my shoulder while we wait for the rush of air that will let us know the apple is back. Draco curls his fingers around the doorknob, hesitating for a few seconds after the sound. If the new charms didn’t work, we’re back at square one with absolutely nothing to help us move forward.

Reaching forward, I give Draco’s free hand a squeeze, offering an encouraging smile, “It’ll be fine. I can feel it.”

He lets out a shaky breath, pulling the door open. Inside, on the middle shelf, sits an apple, brilliant green, its skin shimmering in the sunlight. Draco plucks it off the shelf, spinning it slowly in his hand. It’s perfect. No signs of decay, none of the black rotting flesh the fruit usually comes back with. Draco lets out a relieved chuckle. “It worked.”

Taking the apple from him, I sink my teeth into it, ready to spit the chunk out at the first taste of acrid rot. There’s none, just the tart bite washing over my tongue. Exactly as it should be. Swallowing, I let out a laugh, pulling Draco into a hug. We did it. “Let’s do the bird.”

Draco catches my hand as I go to set the creature on the shelf, “We’ve got class. Put it back in the cage. We’ll send it through tonight.”

I find it hard to sit through classes. Nothing we learn really sinks in. My mind wanders. Even venturing out to visit the Thestrals doesn’t have the effect it usually does. I draw them without really seeing them. I know I spoke to Luna, but I can’t recall the conversation. Classes with the Gryffindors are the hardest. While I try to avoid Harry, it’s hardly possible. I can feel his icy stare boring into me, feel the hatred radiating off of him. It makes me nauseous. I know it wouldn’t fix everything, but I wish there was a way I tell him that I’ve made up my mind, that I care. We’re fighting the same fight, just in different ways.

The idea comes to me at dinner. I hadn’t meant to look up at the head table, but Draco mentioned Snape sending him another request for a meeting and I couldn’t help myself. Severus was talking with the headmaster and it all just kind of fell into place. If there’s one person Potter trusts it’s Dumbledore. I just need him to stop looking at me like I’m the one who killed his Godfather. Dumbledore can help with that.

“You go on without me. I’ll meet you there,” I instruct Draco when he suggests we head out.

He stares down at me, “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to talk with someone. I don’t think it’ll take long.”

“You’re not going to Snape are you?”

I arch an eyebrow, “Seriously? No, I’m not going to Severus.”

Draco stares at me for a few more seconds before nodding, turning on his heel, and disappearing out of the Great Hall. I stay where I am, waiting for the headmaster to get up and leave. Almost everyone has cleared out before he stands, bows to everyone, and slips from behind the teacher’s table. Severus follows soon after.

I make my way slowly to the gargoyle statue that guards Dumbledore’s office. If only I had Harry’s stupid map, I’d be able to see if he was actually up there. I’m just going to have to take the chance. I guess I could always wait. Mumbling out the password, I climb the steps, going to knock.

“Certainly not. _You_ must kill me.”

My knuckles hover over the wood, ear pressed to the door. Severus’s smooth voice floats through the air, “Would you like me to do it now, or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?”

“Oh, not quite yet,” Dumbledore responds, a laugh in his tone. “I daresay the moment will present itself in due course. Given what has happened, we can be sure that it will happen within a year.”

There is silence for a few seconds before chair legs scrape over a stone floor. Flying away from the door, I wedge myself in the last bend of the stairs, holding my breath as Severus sweeps past. Waiting quietly, I listen for the statue to slide shut. I silently count to sixty before knocking on the office door. If I’m lucky, Dumbledore will think I slipped in when Severus was exiting.

“Ah, Miss Riddle, I wondered when you’d finally come to see me. I must admit I did think it would be sooner than this,” Dumbledore gives me a cheery smile, motioning for me to take a seat.

My plan was to ask Dumbledore to explain things to Harry, but now that I’m here, after what I heard, that’s the farthest thing from my mind. Dumbledore asking Severus to kill him doesn’t make sense. Within a year? The man talks as if his time is quickly coming to an end. What does he know?

The question spills out before I can stop it, “Why did you let me come back to this school? You know what I am.”

“You know, I do not often question the judgment of the Sorting Hat, but it would be a lie to say I haven’t wondered why it placed you in Slytherin. You who is so guided by your heart, who faces even the most lethal amongst us with a high head and defiant bravery, you who would lay down your life for so many others.”

He once again motions to the chair placed in front of his desk. Instead of sitting, I opt to pace, hands folded at my lower back, eyes searching over the massive bookshelves, “Perhaps it put me where I was most needed.”

Dumbledore’s face lights with a smile, “Yes. Yes, you and I seem to be in agreement about that.”

“Forgive me professor, but you haven’t answered my question.”

“Ah, yes,” he smiles again. “The child is not the parent. You, though followed by shadows of who your father is, are still the only one who can choose your destiny.”

“And what if I make the wrong choice?”

“One choice alone cannot seal a fate. And perhaps, if done for a noble reason, it isn’t really a bad choice at all.”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“Nor do most in your position,” Dumbledore concedes with a sad smile.

I’m not going to get anything out of him but convoluted riddles and bits of what he probably thinks is wisdom. Striding across the room, I curl my fingers around the door handle. A snippet of a conversation I overheard almost a year ago plays through my mind, stalling me. Releasing my grip, I turn back to the headmaster, “You’re wrong, you know.”

“About what exactly?”

“Your choice, even if you think it’s for a noble cause, it’s still a bad one. If I’m right, you’re just as bad as him.”

“And you think you are better? This war you’re starting, won’t it also have casualties?”

For the first time in my life, I understand my father’s hatred for the man sitting before me. Behind the shining eyes and friendly wrinkles of a grandfather sits someone who puts his agenda above all else. His gentle, guardian demeanor masks the ugly underneath.

“My war is fought alone. No innocent people will die to help me achieve my ends. You’re throwing away a boy’s life, a man’s soul – for what? _Victory_? Because you’re too old and senile to think of another way? It’s pathetic.”

Dumbledore smiles warmly as if I’ve just given him the loveliest of compliments, “You and I both know _you_ cannot kill him. No matter your plan, Mr. Potter will still need to be involved.”

“I never put much stock into Divination, Professor. _Someone_ must kill my father; I revel in the irony of it coming about because of his own flesh and blood.”

“And risk your own soul?”

I take one last long look at Dumbledore; “My soul has not been my own for many years.”

“Isabelle,” Dumbledore calls as I pull the office door open. Sighing, I turn back to him once again, “I will not pretend I don’t know you were listening to the conversation Severus and I were having, you’ve made it clear you were.”

“I won’t let them kill him and I won’t let you split the soul of an innocent man.”

Dumbledore gives me a knowing smile, his eyes sparkling with understanding, “I’m betting on it. Though I fear your vendetta against your father could prove dangerous.”

“Once again, you and I differ in opinion. He won’t hurt me.”

“Have a good night,” he pauses for a second, studying me, “Miss Riddle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited for this chapter to finally be published. I changed and rechanged the conversation between Isabelle and Dumbledore so many times. I hope you are all happy with the results. 
> 
> I do this for you guys so please feel free to leave suggestions, I'll try to incorporate anything you guys would like to see. 
> 
> All my love <3


	12. Of Death and Dying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter for this week because I'm ahead on writing.

Two blonde girls sit outside the Room of Requirement, rolling marbles over the floor. They look up when they hear me approaching, giving a nod before going back to their game.

“Has he been in there long?” I question, waiting for the door to finish materializing.

Either Crabbe or Goyle, it’s nearly impossible to tell when they don’t look like themselves, shrugs, “Twenty minutes, maybe.”

Slipping inside the room, I wait for the door to latch behind me before venturing further. There’s a bird missing from the cage. Gentle sniffing rises from near the back, muffled by the furniture. My heart pangs at the idea that Draco has been sitting up here alone, lost in his world of self-doubt and fear. I should’ve just come with him. My little adventure with Dumbledore didn’t get me anywhere. The old bat just talks in circles. It was more of a waste of time than anything else.

“Draco?”

The sniffing stops, plunging the room into silence. Rounding the corner I see him sitting on the floor, cradling something in his hands. His back is to me and I gently brush his shoulder to let him know I’m there before squatting down behind him.

“What happened?”

He lifts shaking hands, revealing a little bluebird, it’s body limp and motionless. Dead, “I killed it. I thought – the apple worked. It should have worked.”

“It’s okay, Draco. We’ll run some more charms, try again. We’ve got more birds.”

His face twists up in disgust, “You don’t get it. I _killed_ it. _Me_. I put it in that thing.”

“Sometimes things die, that’s how life works.” But the words sound hollow, no real conviction behind them.

Draco shakes his head, more tears tumbling down his cheeks, words coming out in guttural heaves, “I can’t do this, Isabelle. I’m weak. Pathetic. I’m sat on the floor crying over a stupid bird.”

“You’re not weak. This, you here on the floor with that little bird, is kindness,” crawling forward I take his face in my hands, wiping his tears away with my thumbs, “Kindness is not weakness, Draco. To be kind, to care, in this world, is brave. You are so incredibly brave.”

Draco jerks away from me, slamming his eyes shut, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Look at you like what?”

“Like I’m your whole world. I don't deserve it.”

Dipping down, I press my lips to the top of Draco’s head, “I don’t know how else to look at you.”

“Your father was right, I’m not good enough for you.”

He shudders but allows me to collect him in my arms. I run my fingers absently through his hair, “You deserve so much better than this. You always have.”

“I just – ” he shakes his head against my shoulder, slumping further into me “I just wish it wasn’t – never mind.”

We always talk; always share everything. I don’t want that to ever change. No matter what happens I need Draco and me to still be Draco and me. It’s all we’ve got left. Everything else is shifting, being forced into a new normal. I need this, us, to still be how we’ve always been; a force to be reckoned with, two people who understand and accept each other fully, no matter what.

“Wish it wasn’t what?”

“Me,” Draco spits out, venom in his words. “I wish he had picked someone else. I don’t want this.” He jerks away from me, his eyes large, skin going sickly pale. “Please don’t tell him.”

I laugh softly, recollecting him, “I’m not going to tell him, Draco. You’re allowed your feelings.”

“I love you,” Draco gently sets the bird on the ground, twisting around to face me properly. “I love you so much.”

His lips brush against mine.

~~~~~~~

We bury the bird on the edge of the lake. It’s a bigger blow to Draco than I expected. He draws even further into himself. It’s all I can do to get him into a chair in our classes. We spend a lot of time on the floor of the second-floor bathroom. He’s terrified he won’t be able to kill Dumbledore, what it’ll do to him if he does. Nothing I say helps. He fell into a fit when I suggested I could do it, making me promise I wouldn’t.

With Draco spending most of his days in bed, the hospital wing, or the bathroom, all the classwork falls on my shoulders. I spend all my free time in the common room, pouring over books and scribbling down half-arsed essays about Bezoars and counter-curses. It’ll take a miracle if either of us passes this year.

“ _You’ve failed, Draco. Avada Ke –_ ”

“No!” I fly forward, fingers balled in a fist, eyes sweeping the room, ready to jump in front of Draco.

My body shakes like a leaf as I slowly realize it was a dream. I’m in the common room. Relaxing my fingers, I run the tips over a deep grey, fluffy blanket. I definitely didn’t have this when I fell asleep. I don’t even remember falling asleep. I catch movement in the corner of my eye, whipping in that direction, delving into my pocket for my wand.

Blaise freezes, his hands raised by his hips, “Just me.”

“Did you give this to me?” I lift the edge of the blanket enough for him to see.

He shakes his head, sinking into a chair opposite the couch I fell asleep on. Books still scatter the floor, a half-written parchment sitting on the table, “I think it was Draco. You okay?”

“Bad dream.”

“You’ve been falling asleep out here a lot lately.”

It’s only now, with him sitting in front of me, that I notice Blaise is dressed in a slick emerald suit. A good a subject to switch to as any. I don’t really want him meddling in my personal life, “Where are you going?”

“Coming back,” Blaise looks down at his outfit, kicking his feet up on the table, “There was another Slugclub meeting.”

“What’d you talk about this time?”

“Nothing interesting. Harry stayed after to ask about Horcruxes. I was curious why he wanted to be alone with Slughorn. I waited outside the door to listen.”

“Horcruxes?” The room pulses, my tongue suddenly feeling like a weight at the bottom of my mouth. Dumbledore’s been meddling. “What would Harry want with those?”

Blaise shrugs, “I don’t even know what they are.”

“Let’s just say it’s much darker magic than Harry usually messes with. What did Slughorn say?”

“He kinda freaked out, told Harry to leave. I left before I could get caught.”

All right, so at least Harry doesn’t know what he’s working with. But Dumbledore’s hand – he’s found one already, possibly started to destroy it. When will father figure it out? Hiding this from him probably won’t come to any good, but I’ve got to for as long as I can. If the headmaster is working on destroying the only things that are keeping my father alive it needs to stay secret for as long as it can. The second the Dark Lord knows he’ll start creating more. It’ll be a mess.

“Interesting.”

Blaise tips forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “We’re having a Christmas party. I’m allowed to bring someone. You could come if you wanted, see if you can find out why Harry wanted to know about those things; why he asked Slughorn.”

“Yeah,” the more I know the better I can prepare. “Yeah, that’d be great.”


	13. The Helped and The Helping

“So what? You’re just going to go off with him? Is that what you want? You want him? Well, have him! I won’t stand in your way any longer!”

I stare back at Draco, lip trembling, blinking back tears, “I’ve told you. I just want to know what Slughorn is up to. You said it wasn’t a big deal.”

“I get it, okay? You don’t have to lie.” Draco storms out of the common room, slamming the door to the dorms. The sound reverberates through the quiet.

Staring after him, I press my tongue into my canine tooth, trying to feel something, anything, other than the numbness that is settling over me. He said he understood. Sure, he wasn’t thrilled, but we both decided it was better to know. If Harry is poking around in business that could pertain to my father or our mission, we need to know. It’s the only way to keep everyone safe.

The clearing of a throat makes my jump, my heart restarting at a dramatic pace. Whipping around, I see Blaise.

He tips his weight from foot to foot, wringing out his hands, “Do you still want to go?”

“Yeah,” striding forward, I take his arm, pulling him towards the exit. I’m not going to let Draco’s piss poor attitude ruin my night. We’ll talk through it later.

Blaise walks quietly beside me, teeth working against his bottom lip. I feel every side glance, hear every time he opens his mouth and then snaps it back shut.

“If you’ve got something to say you might as well spit it out.”

He lets out a sigh, sliding his hands under my elbows, stopping our forward progression, “You could do better than him, Isabelle. You deserve better.”

“That’s not possible.”

As he shakes his head, setting his jaw, I resign myself to hearing him through, “You deserve someone who carries your books for you and makes sure you eat enough and helps you with classes and never ever makes you cry.”

“Don’t you get it?” I narrow my eyes at him, shaking my head in disbelief. Six years of friendship and he still doesn’t even understand the basics of my personality. “That’s why it wouldn’t work with anyone else. I’m not fragile. Draco doesn’t carry my books, not because he isn’t a gentleman, but because he knows I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself. He doesn’t check up on me because he knows I’m a big girl; that I can take care of myself. It would never work because someone else would always think I needed them. Draco knows I don’t. That’s why we’re special. I don’t need him. I want him. I’ll _always_ want _him_.”

Softening my gaze, I give Blaise a small smile, “Give up, Blaise, before you get hurt.”

“It has to hurt though when he snaps at you like that?” Blaise argues.

“A little, yeah,” I answer truthfully. “But, you see, people are like sunsets, Blaise. I would not ask the sunset to add more pink or soften a shade of orange. I simply take it in, accepting it as it is, understanding that it needs all parts, exactly how they are, to be beautiful, to be that particular sunset. I do not ask Draco to hide his rage because it’s a part of him. I don’t want him to change because I love who he is, exactly the way he is. That rage, it comes from a place of caring, of passion spilling over. If does he changes, I want it to be because he wanted to, not because I forced him.”

“I’m convinced you’re much older than you say,” Blaise chuckles.

I return the laugh, understanding the sentiment. Draco and I have been together for a long time. It’s not always been easy, but I don’t want anyone else. Sometimes we fight, but we always come back to each other. This is just another one of those times. He’ll work through whatever inner turmoil he’s going through and then we’ll talk it through. We’ll be okay.

“I’ve come to these conclusions with a big heart and kindness, not age.”

Blaise rolls his eyes, “You have more patience than I do.”

“Love makes the heart gentler. I wouldn’t accept the same behavior out of anyone else. Now – ” I take Blaise’s hand, “– let’s go. We’re going to be late.”

Slughorn’s office is an elaborate display of golden bobbles and shining lanterns and wispy chiffons. Various students wander around the room carrying trays laden with hors d’oeuvres and champagne flutes. Laughter and cheery music float through the room, making it impossible not to fall into the holiday spirit. As a house-elf announces our arrival, all eyes snap to Blaise and me.

“She looks like a trophy,” Hermione whispers to Harry as Blaise escorts me through the room.

“She is a trophy,” Harry hisses back, his eyes dropping to the ornate diamond and emerald necklace I was gifted by Narcissa. It fits like a choker around my neck, half crescents dipping down across my upper chest, ending in large emeralds, which dangle just above the scooped neck of my dress. “You know who she is.”

Blaise leads me into the corner furthest from Harry and Hermione, snatching two flutes off a tray on our way, “Just ignore them.”

“I hadn’t even noticed their presence until you mentioned it.”

I get an eye roll, “You don’t have to keep up appearances around me. I’ve known you long enough to know you aren’t really the brick wall you appear to be. What they’re saying has to affect you.”

“Everyone has their own recollection of what happened that night, Blaise. If they need to paint me as the enemy I’m not going to stop them or feel bad about it. You don’t need to protect me.”

Blaise shakes his head, chuckling softly, “I’m not doing it because I think you need me to. I’m doing it because you’re my friend. I care about you.”

“Well, if you’d like to continue to do that, dancing would help me feel better.”

This gets another laugh, Blaise taking me by the waist and spinning me around the area cleared in the middle of the room. We twirl past other couples; Ginny and Dean, Neville and a blonde girl I’ve not seen before, even Luna spins herself around the floor, her eyes alight. Blaise takes up pulling various faces, making fun of McLaggen trying to find Hermione as she skirts around behind the curtains to keep away from him. The display keeps me entertained, the two of us laughing as we give Cormac increasingly cryptic answers to his inquiries into his date’s whereabouts.

“Was slugs for brains busy tonight?” Blaise questions on McLaggen’s fourth pass through the room.

Shrugging, I duck under his arm, spinning back towards his chest, “I think Ron is with Lavender. I saw them snogging in the hall between classes a few days ago. It was quite disgusting actually.”

“Now you know how the rest of us feel when Draco and you do it in the common room.”

I bat playfully at Blaise’s arm, “Draco and I are not nearly that loud.”

“Debatable.”

“Sod off, Zabini,” I laugh back. “You’re just jealous because you’ve got nobody to snog with.”

“I could have plenty of girls, thank you very much.”

“Oh that’s right,” I shoot a look over at Ginny who is swaying gently back and forth, Dean’s hands on her waist, “Your girl’s already taken.”

Blaise scrunches up his nose, his eyes doing dark, “I wouldn’t. You know I wouldn’t.”

“Hey,” I raise my hands in a sign of surrender. “Your businesses. I don’t judge.”

“And brooms don’t fly,” Blaise answers with an eye roll.

As Slughorn calls us all to dinner, the door of the office bursts open. Filch pushes his way through the group, Draco in tow. The room goes quiet as the caretaker shoves my boyfriend in front of Slughorn, “Professor Slughorn, I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?”

Draco tugs himself away from Filch, straightening his suit jacket, eyes sweeping over the group of people, their attention all set on him, “All right, I wasn’t invited! I was date crashing, okay? My girlfriend is here with someone else, happy?”

“No, I’m not!” Filch answers, glee spreading over his face. “You’re in trouble, you are! Didn’t the headmaster say that nighttime prowling’s out unless you’ve got permission, didn’t he, eh?”

Slughorn, who seemed to be in some kind of stunned trance through Filch’s excited outburst, snaps out of it. He smiles warmly, clapping his hands together, “That’s all right, Argus, that’s all right. It’s Christmas time, and it’s not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we’ll forget any punishment; you may stay Draco.”

The pleased expression slides from Filch’s face, shattering against the stone floor as he shuffles out of the room. For a few seconds, Draco just stares at Slughorn as if not sure he’d heard the professor correctly. With the next breath, he’s pushing out a thank you, forcing out some bullshit about his grandfather speaking highly of Slughorn.

“I’d like a word with you, Draco,” Snape sweeps out of the shadows, sliding a hand over Draco’s shoulder.

“Oh, now, Severus,” Slughorn butts in, teetering on his toes. He looks around the room nervous sweat appearing on his brow. Our new professor might be a brilliant mind, but he clearly doesn’t enjoy confrontation or anyone poking holes in his carefully crafted façade of grandeur. “It’s Christmas, don’t be too hard – ”

Severus cuts off Slughorn’s line of protest with an icy glare, “I’m his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or otherwise, to be.” He squeezes Draco’s shoulder. “Follow me.”

In a grand flourish of robes, Snape tows Draco from the party.

“Go,” Blaise nods as I turn to him, an explanation already sitting on the tip of my tongue. “It’s okay.”

I give the boy a sad smile, taking his hand, “Thank you. I had a really great time. I mean it, I haven’t laughed like that in a while.”

“I know,” Blaise gives my fingers a quick squeeze. “Go rescue your man.”

Slipping out the office door, I follow the sound of shoes on stone. As I turn the corner, I hear a classroom door click shut. Hurrying up the hall, I push each door open. Draco is strong enough to keep Severus out of his head, but he’s fragile right now. With enough verbal abuse, Draco might let something slip. As I reach the last door, my foot catches on something, almost sending me tumbling to the floor. Righting myself, I reach out into the empty space before me, fingertips brushing against silky material. Ripping it away, I see Harry crouched before the door, his ear pressed to the keyhole.

“I see you haven’t learned your lesson about eavesdropping, Potter. Want a second go at it?”

“He seems pretty shaken up in there, any second Snape is going to get what he wants. Do you really want to risk that?”

“This isn’t over,” I hiss back, pushing the classroom door open.

“It’s – ”

Both Draco and Severus turn as I shut the door with an echoing snap. Draco lets out a relieved sigh. Severus looks like a child who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “If you’re done interrogating my boyfriend, I’ll escort him back to the common room.”

“I was simply telling him he needs to be careful. That display with the Bell girl was sloppy.”

Holding my hand out to Draco, I stare down Severus, “As I’m sure Draco has already told you, _he_ had no part in that. I think, from now on, it would be wise for you to leave us alone. Draco doesn’t want your help.”

“Do not make veiled threats to me,” Severus bites back.

His face twists up as I push past his wall of defenses, fingers twitching against the pain, “How’s that for veiled threats?”

“If you two tell me what you’re trying to do, I can assist you – ”

“I’ve got all the assistance I need, thanks,” Draco answers, nodding in my direction. “I’m not alone.”

“You were certainly alone tonight, which was foolish in the extreme, wandering around the corridors without lookouts or backup, these are elementary mistakes,” Severus’s face softens. “Listen to me, I am trying to help you. I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco – ”

Draco shrugs off these words, “Looks like you’ll have to break it. Besides, I wouldn’t have been alone tonight if you hadn’t put Crabbe and Goyle in detention!”

“Keep your voice down!” Snape snaps. “If your friends Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.Ls this time around, they will need to work a little harder than they are at pres – ”

“What does it matter?!” Draco bellows, taking a step closer to Severus, the vein running across his temple throbbing with rage. “Defense Against the Dark Arts – it’s all a joke, isn’t it, an act? Like any of us need protection against the Dark Arts – ”

“It is an act crucial to success, Draco!”

“Shut up! Both of you just shut up!” I push my way between Draco and Severus, a hand on each of their heaving chests. “You’re both acting like children. We don’t want your help, Severus. Draco and I have the situation well controlled. I don’t want you bothering him anymore. You know what I’ll do to you if you don’t leave him alone.” Turning my head, I soften my gaze, looking over Draco’s face, “Would you like to return to the party or go back to the common room?”

“Whatever gets me farthest away from him.”

“Okay.” Wrapping an arm around Draco, I lead both of us to the door.

“He’s already got a mother, Isabelle, he doesn’t need another!” Severus calls after us.

Keeping an arm around Draco, I spin back to face Snape. My eyes land on his shoes, chunks of what looks like puke staining the shining black, “You’ve got vomit on your shoes... _Professor_.”


	14. Five Seconds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a day early because I'll be out of town tomorrow and won't be able to post then.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Draco mumbles once I’ve gotten him into bed.

I shrug, hovering in the space next to Draco’s bed, “Didn’t want to miss a chance to put Severus in his place.”

“Isabelle,” He curls his fingers around my wrist, thumb working circles into my skin. “I’m sorry, about earlier. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I think I was jealous. It’s always been us and seeing you going off with him – ”

Allowing a few moments of silence to make sure there isn’t anything else Draco wants to say, I sink onto the edge of his bed, “I went to figure out what Harry wanted with Slughorn, you knew that. Blaise was just the means to an end. You know I find Blaise insufferably self-righteous.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately.”

“Being in the common room together doesn’t qualify as spending time together. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Draco. I promise.”

He smiles, tugging me down next to him, his arms curling around me, “Did you find out what Potter wanted?”

“No, my detective work was interrupted when someone rudely crashed the party,” I jest, poking him in the ribs.

Draco lets out a chuckle, “Terribly sorry.”

“It’s not like either of them would’ve talked to me anyway. Harry wants me dead and Slughorn is terrified of me,” I answer with an eye roll. For now I’m going to have to bench my plan of figuring out why Potter is asking about Horcruxes, “What were you really doing wandering by yourself?”

“I was coming back from working on the cabinet,” Draco admits, dropping my gaze. “The bird was dead again.”

I cup his cheek in my hand, giving him a sympathetic smile. Every time a bird comes back dead a little more of Draco’s resolve crumbles. Killing things, even indirectly, doesn’t sit well on his conscious, “I thought we agreed no more trips without me.”

“You’ve been busy trying to make sure I don’t fail all my classes.”

“I’m never too busy to go with you. I never want you to feel like you’re in this alone, okay?”

Draco nods snuggling in closer to my side. I gently stroke his cheek, humming softly until he falls asleep. For a long time, I just watch him resting, hoping that he’s finding some kind of peace.

He’s gone when I awake the next morning. Our plan over the Christmas break is to pretty much live in the cluttered room with the cabinet. While we’ve received no communication, it’s an unspoken understanding that the Dark Lord is probably growing impatient. No classes and less students lurking around will mean ample time to focus on fixing the Vanishing Cabinet and coming up with another plan to try and kill Dumbledore. Wandering out into the common room, I wave a sleepy good morning to Crabbe and Goyle who agreed to stay behind with us to continue acting as lookout. Just because the students are gone doesn’t mean the professors won’t still pose potential problems. Even though Draco and I have an explanation if we do get caught coming out of the room, I prefer not to have to use it.

Tugging on an oversized sweater, I tie my hair up. After coaxing Helix away from my boots, I head to the Great Hall for breakfast. If Draco isn’t there I’ll head to the Room of the Requirement. He’s probably just eager to finish up the repairs.

Draco isn’t in the Great Hall or the Room of Requirement or the Astronomy Tower where he likes to think while watching the snow fall. Not yet discouraged, I do a thorough inspection of the library, our favorite classrooms, and various nooks throughout the castle. Draco isn’t in any of the usual spots. Resigning myself to just having to wait for Draco to show up, I slowly make my way back toward the Slytherin common room.

I usually find the castle rather stuffy, too many bodies jostling into each other, everyone talking. Over breaks its actually rather beautiful, the hallways vast and silent. I take time to appreciate the paintings and the carvings in the stone. In these moments I understand why so many students feel like Hogwarts is their one true home. In a world filled with magic this silent castle with its crisp white blanket of snow feels like the epicenter.

As I pass the boy’s bathroom on the second floor, whimpering floats under the door. Inching closer to the wooden barrier, I listen for any indication it might be Draco. Dealing with anyone else having a sob isn’t on my to-do list for today or ever really. Carefully, I press my ear against the door, holding my breath as I listen.

“She’s so strong, stronger than she knows.” It’s Draco, his tone desperate, coated with tears. “She handles everything I throw at her with this grace, with her head held high and it’s not fair to her. I’m going to lose her because one day she’s going to realize she’s better than me and I’m terrified. I need her. She’s always been there, my best friend, someone to listen and not judge. And I’m ruining her.”

“She said that?” Answers the squeaky voice of Moaning Myrtle.

“No, but I know,” Draco throws back. “I’m not worth it. I can’t even do this tiny little thing. The one thing I need to do.”

“But you can.” Myrtle tries to comfort him. The usual snarky narcissism and flirt has fallen from her voice. The words actually sound sincere.

“I can’t!” Something hits against the stone. “I’m not like her. This is eating me alive. She’ll see and she’ll leave and I’ll be utterly alone.”

My heart hits the floor, a crushing weight sitting on my chest, making it impossible to breath. I have to lean against the wall to keep myself steady. Each breath is a chore, getting caught up in my throat as I choke down sobs. His words bring on another wave of my greatest fear; this is killing his spirit.

 _One_ – I let tears stream down my cheeks, collecting under my chin.

 _Two_ – I let the weight of it all suffocate me, drowning in it.

 _Three_ – my legs give out, knees hitting unforgiving stone.

 _Four_ – deep breathe.

 _Five_ – the tears stop, my whole world going still, quiet.

Five seconds. Five seconds to lose control, to let the whole world fall apart.

_Six._

Dabbing at my face, I get to my feet. I’ve had my time. He needs me now. Painting on a stoic face, I knock on the bathroom door, “Draco, are you in there?”

“Y-yeah, I’m here.”

The break in his voice almost sends me into another heart wrench. _Not now. Later. He needs me. I have to be there for him._ I repeat this over and over as I push the door open. “You okay? I went looking for you, but you weren’t in any of the regular spots.”

Myrtle has disappeared, likely hiding out in a stall or tucking herself away in a drainpipe. I get that sense that, while she knows I’m what Draco needs, she’s not pleased about it. Me being here takes away the one person who talks to her, probably the first person in years who’s actually wanted to have a conversation.

“I just – I just needed a minute.”

“Draco –”

He throws himself at me, the two of us finding our way to the floor. Sobs wrack his body, hands clutching at my back and shoulders, curling around me, “Please. Don’t leave me, please.”

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Draco’s breath hitches in his throat, his lips open and closing rapidly, nostrils flaring as he tries to suck in air. His body shakes against mine, fingers kneading at the knitted fabric of my sweater. Stormy gray is overtaken by deep black, his gaze vacant, like he’s not really here. Another panic attack. Draco’s been having these with increasing frequency as each attempt to fix the cabinet fails. He’ll fly out of sleep unable to breath, completely disconnected from reality. The first time it happened I flew into my own panic, rushing him to the Hospital Wing. After some simple instructions from Madame Pomfrey, I’ve gotten better at grounding Draco and pulling him out of the panic by myself.

Gently, I slide Draco’s hand down over my heart. Collecting the other one, I hold it up in front of me. Locking my gaze with Draco’s I push my index finger against his, “In.”

Draco takes in a rattling gasp.

I push my middle finger against his, “Out.”

A harsh huff.

I continue this until Draco’s breathing steadies, his eyes softening, the pupils no longer pulsing. He slumps down next to me, his hand still resting over my heart, his head against my shoulder.

Once Draco has calmed down, I take his face in mine, studying his eyes, “Can you walk with me?”

He nods.

The door springs to life on the second pass, revealing an airy room. Soft red brick accompanied by gentle creams. In the center of it all is a bed, the blankets already pulled back, a fire crackling, casting a warm glow over everything. Gently, I place Draco on the edge of the bed. Sitting on the carved wood bedside table is a vile of clear liquid; the same Madame Pomfrey has been feeding Draco all term.

“Here,” I hand the vile over to Draco as he settle against the pillows. “It’ll help with the dreams.”

He tips the vile back, swallowing hard, “Are we safe here?”

“Yes. Sleep. It’ll all look better tomorrow.”


	15. Secret Little World

We live in this place, our own little slice of peace. The room provides us everything we need and the kitchen elves are more than happy to keep a steady supply of food coming. I watch Draco heal in here, regaining bits of himself as we play chess or dance around to the records constantly spinning on the player. For the first time in months, he’s smiling and laughing. He regains color, his limbs no longer shaking in their expensive jackets. We sit under the window and read, often lapsing into silence, curled in each other's arms, watching the snow fall peacefully outside.

Draco begins to sink back into the safety net created by our relationship. The way he moves and interacts with me shifts. Instead of two forces working for one goal, we’re now one entity, acting and thinking as such. He’s begun to talk about the future again, painting dazzling pictures of life after school, of traveling the world. He leaves anything to do with the Dark Lord out of it, mentioning only us. 

I let myself fall into the fantasy world we’ve created in these four walls, clinging to the idea that we’ll both be okay. Art and music seep back into my bones, encouraging me to also fantasize of a future away from all of this. I dream of a future where neither of us is burdened with our pasts; a bright happy tomorrow with nothing but love and joy. Time spent tucked away in this place feels like falling into the past, when Draco and I first started dating and there was nothing but time and endless possibilities. 

As I watch him relax, I fall more in love, grow more certain Draco will come out alright after all of this. He’s much more resilient than I ever gave him credit for. The wounds are still there, the worry, the self-doubt, but he can push through. He’ll heal in time, with the proper space to do it, with the right people helping him along. I grow more confident in my ability to heal as well, in my ability to shed the shadows that have lingered over my life for far too long. We can do it together, using the support and trust we’ve established. We can rebuild from this. 

“Have you ever killed anyone, Isabelle?” Draco questions as the hazy winter sun begins to peek in through the window.

I let his words hang in the silence for a second, “No.” 

“Do you think you could if you had to?” 

“If I had to, yes.” 

The passing of fingers over my bare arm halts, Draco’s breath catching, “What if I can’t?” 

Twisting around; I face him, brushing a few strands of hair away from his face. Even with sunken-in cheeks and deep circles under his eyes, Draco is breathtakingly handsome. The sun filtering in through the high windows catch the blue flecks in his eyes, making them sparkle. The light gives his pale skin a healthy glow, bringing color to his cheeks. He looks like a boy again, not someone with the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“That’s okay. The fact I’d be able to probably means there’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he runs his thumb along my jawline. “You’re perfect.” 

“People can’t be perfect.” 

Draco, who has always enjoyed my snippets of knowledge and views on the world, smiles at this, “You’re perfect to me. Not in the sense that you can’t make mistakes, but in the way that you learn from them, grow, get better. You make me want to be better.”

“You don’t need to be a killer to be better, Draco,” I take his hand in mine, bringing it to rest on my chest, my heart beating against our intertwined fingers. “Not being a killer that – that’s the better part. To be frightened, to care about people, to not want to become like the rest of them; that’s what makes you better.” 

He frowns, dipping his gaze away from mine, “Not in their eyes.” 

“Their eyes don’t see clearly.” 

“Your father – ”

I cut him off with a kiss, “I’m going to tell you something and I need you to keep it safe for me. Can you do that?” 

“Anything for you.” 

Smiling, I snuggle in closer to him, whispering into the peaceful quiet of our little safe haven, “I don’t care about my father. I don’t care about any of them. I don’t care if you kill Dumbledore or decide it isn’t who you are. I didn’t fall in love with Draco Malfoy the Death Eater. 

I fell in love with Draco Malfoy the boy who fixed my earmuffs in Herbology, the boy who laughed with me when I fell into him tripping up the stairs our first night here, the boy who covers me with a blanket when I fall asleep in the common room, the boy who cries when birds die, the boy who will do anything and everything to make me smile, the boy who is fiercely protective. 

I love you for exactly who you are, right now, not for what you can contribute to the Dark Lord’s cause. That doesn’t matter to me. All that matters is that you’re here, that you’re alive. You’re what I’d kill for; anyone or anything that threatened your life.” 

Draco lifts our intertwined hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles, “Can we just stay here? Just like this? Grow old. Forget about everything else.” 

“One day. One day we’ll have a house where the sun always streams in through the windows and there are never shadows. We’ll laugh and remember what it’s like to just live. I promise you, I’m going to fight for that. Right now, there’s a war out there. We’ve got to pick a side, fight for that future.” 

“You’ll be there, though, through it all? To help me on the other side?” 

Smiling, I press a kiss to his forehead, “Of course. We’ll be there for each other.” 

“I’m on your side, Isabelle. Always.” 

“I know,” I pull him in close to my chest, running my fingers through his hair. “I know.” 

I ask the room to bring us the cabinet and the birdcage. For a while, it just sits there in the corner covered by the ornate blanket. On occasion, I’ll catch Draco staring at it with reproach, muttering under his breath about needing it to work for no other reason than to keep his family safe. I’ve reached out to Narcissa, asking her to send over a few titles I think may help us. While Draco stares I read. 

After sitting on the information for a few days and testing out the spells on dead flowers and burnt bits of parchment, I approach Draco about it. He offers up a shrug, his eyes following me as I pull the blanket down, exposing the smoothed wood. Gently, I lay my hands against the surface, whispering. 

“What is it meant to do?” 

“They’re for restoration. They revitalize.” 

Draco hovers behind me, his fingers hovering above my flattened hand, “Will it work?” 

“It worked on the flower and parchment,” I shrug, pulling my palm away as the cabinet begins to hum and vibrate, dancing on its legs. “It’s supposed to be one of the strongest revitalization spells there is. I’m not sure if I’m powerful enough to get it to full power. You probably would’ve been better off asking Granger for help.” 

Arms wrap around me, pulling me against a warm chest. Draco tips his chin against the top of my head, hand coming up to cup my cheek. Sighing, I press my face into his touch, “The mudblood may be smart, but she doesn’t have your power. No one does, Bell.” 

“Language, Draco.” 

“What does it matter, Isabelle?” 

Sighing, I turn to face him, “Because it’s used a shield. If real witches and wizards are ever going to have a place in this world other than the shadows they need to stop hiding behind petty words and cutting insults. It’s a crutch and I won’t have you leaning on it.” 

“Not because you find the world vile?” 

“Words themselves cannot be vile, only the meaning given to them. The Killing Curse itself would just be two silly words strung together if someone hadn’t come along and put conviction behind them.” 

Draco nods his understanding, moving us over to sit on the edge of the bed, “But you don’t agree with shutting them out of the magical world altogether.” 

“No. Magical kind is a dying breed and I don’t believe we should kill any with even a drop of magical blood coursing through their veins,” I explain. 

It’s not a popular opinion, especially amongst most purebloods or the circles I’ve been brought up in. They’ve been taught to horde their magic, to keep it held close to their chests. They’ve married cousins and other distant relatives for years just to keep it safe. That kind of thinking will see and end to magic kind, maybe not in the near future but one day. The practice can’t be sustained. We lost too many in the first war. Most pureblood families are lucky to have one child. If our kind is ever going to survive, ever going to reclaim the glory we once had, we need to embrace all our kind no matter their background. 

Draco grins, pressing a kiss to the top of my forehead, “You really think that’s best? To allow them to sit at our tables, to embrace them?” 

“The wizarding world as we know it was built on the back of witches and wizards born from muggle parents. The Dark Lord himself was born of a muggle father and while I don’t always agree with his methods, he is one of the most powerful of our time. My way of thinking allowed him to exist. The elitist mindset, us versus them, allowed him to become what he is today. Muggles must learn their place, but those of magical blood must be cherished or we shall die out.” 

Draco narrows his eyes, lips tugging into a frown, "My father says - "

"With all due respect, I don't give a damn what your father says," I cut him off with a harsh side-eye. "Look where his grand ideas got him. I'm not going to force you, as you're much too stubborn to be forced, but the options are simple; change or end up in a cell next to his." 

"That's your side then?" The words are accusatory but not cutting, a hint of honest curiosity behind them. "If it came to it, you'd fight alongside people who want you dead, who have turned their backs on you for years?" 

Sighing, I let my head fall to my palms, "It's better than the alternative, isn't it? Do you want to be in fear for your life and the life of your family forever? Do you want to be terrified that any word you speak or action you take will result in death?" 

"No," Draco reaches out, taking hold of my hand. "No, I don't want to live like this forever." 

"Then I think your choice is fairly clear." 

"Yes, I suppose it is."


	16. Confession

On Christmas, a tree appears. Sparkling reds, gleaming gold, and cheery greens twinkle back at us as the fresh scent of pine fills the space. Four neatly wrapped packages sit under the ornament-laden branches; presents from home. Sitting atop the ones addressed to me is a cream envelope. 

“Who’s it from?” Draco questions through a mouthful of muffin. 

A few of the elves working in the kitchens have realized where we’re staying and leave baskets of food outside the door for us. This morning we were greeted with a whole array of traditional Christmas treats. 

Shrugging, I pop the wax seal, sliding the parchment out, “Professor Severus Snape requests the presence of Elizabeth Riddle and Draco Malfoy tonight at seven o’clock sharp. Dinner will be served. Formal attire optional.” 

“He’s lost his damn mind,” Draco tugs the letter out of my grasp, giving it a once over before tossing it into the flames. 

“He’s lonely.” 

“He’s trying to get information, Bell. He doesn’t want company. Do you honestly think we’d even make it through the first course before he started prying?” 

Sighing, I sink into one of the chairs accompanying the bistro table we’ve been using to have our meals, “You don’t have to go, but I’m going to.” 

“Why?” 

“Because he raised me, Draco, and the idea of him sitting in that damp dark office all by himself on Christmas makes my heart hurt.” 

“And what about me, huh?” Draco takes the seat opposite me, pushing the eggs on his plate around with the wrong end of his fork. “Are you okay with me spending Christmas all alone?” 

“Get dressed, we’re going out.” 

The fork falls from Draco’s grip, clanging against the edge of the table and spiraling to the worn floorboards, “Where are we going?” 

“It’s a surprise.” 

Draco follows me the whole way to Hagrid’s hut without saying anything. He kicks at the snow, grimacing up at the faded grey sky and the sun hiding behind the clouds. The garden is coated in a thin layer of white, large patches of mud turned up from where Hagrid has traipsed through to continue caring for the plants that still cling to life despite the chill. Hidden in the white landscape is Buckbeak, his grey head just visible behind a snowdrift. As he stands, beak clicking, Draco’s hand jumps in mine. 

“No.” 

Rolling my eyes, I drop Draco’s hand, bowing gently before approaching the Hippogriff, “He’s harmless.” 

“One of those things attacked me.” 

“Just bow.” 

Grumbling under his breath, Draco bends at the waist. Buckbeak sniffs the air, clucking a few times before sliding his left leg forward, returning Draco’s bow. Slightly stunned, he stays rooted to the spot, watching through narrowed eyes as I bury my face in the soft feathers of Buckbeak’s neck. He flips my hand, trying to get into my jacket and find any snacks I might be hiding. Although Hagrid disapproves of the treat, I fish out a few sugar cubes, holding them in my palm. What the groundskeeper doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Sirius always gave Buckbeak extra scraps of bacon or bits of cakes. It would be a shame for the Hippogriff to not get a treat now and then. 

“You can come pet him,” Pulling out a few extra sugar cubes, I hand them over to Draco. “Just keep your hand nice and flat. He’ll only get your finger if it’s in the way.” 

My boyfriend grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his hand as far away from his body as possible. Buckbeak chirps happily, snatching the cubes. He nuzzles Draco’s palm, looking for more. Slowly, Draco relaxes, his fingertips dusting over the feathers just above Buckbeak’s beak. “Is this one of the one’s Hagrid brought to class?” 

“No,” I bite into my bottom lip, trying to suppress a laugh. Draco wouldn’t believe me even if I could tell him the truth. “This is Weatherwings. He got separated from his group. Hagrid’s been taking care of him.” 

“And you’ve been helping?” 

“Sometimes. I usually just go straight into the forest to sit with the Thestrals. Two of them have mated. I think babies should be born just before the end of term. I'm not sure though. I don't really understand their mating patterns and there's not much about it in any books.” 

Draco reaches into my jacket pocket, pulling out a few more cubes and offering them to Buckbeak, “Will you draw them for me?” 

“If you’d like.” Standing off to the side I watch Draco. He’s different. The youthful grace the surrounded him on the train ride here is gone. He’s older, adulthood creeping over his features, hardening his jaw, creating shadows under his chin, pulling his skin tighter over the muscles underneath. Yet I can still see the childish wonder, the fears of a boy, his youth still clinging to him. It’s an enchanting contrast to see the boyish glimmer of joy and wonder in a man’s eyes. “Would you like to take him flying?” 

Draco’s hand freezes, his head snapping my direction, “We can’t just take it.” 

“And who is going to stop us?” 

“Won’t the giant notice we’ve stolen his bird?” 

“Hippogriff,” I correct quickly, as Buckbeak snorts, his breath hanging like a cloud in the icy blue of the afternoon. “And Hagrid said I could take him out whenever I’d like. I just have to bring him back, obviously.” 

Draco stares at Buckbeak for a few minutes, his fingers trailing over the creature’s neck, dipping down to stroke its side, “Could we just take it on a walk?” 

“I suppose a walk will be just as good.” 

Buckbeak trails behind Draco and I, tossing up walls of snow and snapping at the sparkling ice as it falls back to the earth. He clicks his beak as the lake water surges under its icy tomb. His wings flutter, coos rising into the wind. That's the problem with all this. Buckbeak hated being trapped inside, but Grimmauld Place became his home. Given the chance to fly free, I think he'd go back. There were people there he bonded with, people who loved him, who cared deeply about his saftey. Given the chance, I'd go back too, if only to sit in memories. Draco keeps his arm curled around my shoulders, keeping me grounded as if able to read my thoughts, blowing at the wisps of my hair that fly up in his face. 

“Do you want Dumbledore dead?” I question as we settle down on a patch of snowless ground underneath the trees lining the lake. Buckbeak settles next to me, the heat radiating off of his body keeping me comfortably warm despite the chilled wind. 

“Honestly?”

“I’ve never seen the point in lying to each other and I don’t propose we start now.” 

“Only in the sense that it will keep my family safe, repay whatever debt the Dark Lord feels my father owes. Dumbledore is a lunatic, but I’ve never thought a feeble mind warrants a death sentence.” 

“Draco,” I collect his face in my hands, knowing that if I don’t tell him now I never will. He deserves to know, to fully understand the extent of his punishment, the extent of my father’s cruelty. At least if he knows he'll get one choice in all of this. Maybe not a significant one, but to have power over one's life, even a little power, is freeing. He deserves that much, to understand, to decide if after everything is laid out, I'm still what he wants. As the words spill out, hanging in the thin veil of space between us, I brace myself for the end. “Your father is not fully to blame for the failure at the Ministry. I had a job, an important part to play, a part only I could play and I wasn’t successful.” 

A small crease of confusion puckers between Draco’s eyebrows, “I don’t understand.” 

“I was born with a gift; the ability to possess. I can take people over, make them do, and say whatever I want. That night in the Ministry I was supposed to ensure Potter gave what the Dark Lord wanted to your dad. I couldn’t. I’m the reason the Dark Lord didn’t get what he wanted. I – ” I let out a shaky breath, shutting my eyes against the realization swirling in Draco’s eyes. “I’m the reason your father is in Azkaban. I’m the one that should have been punished.” 

Silence; like the crushing weight of a thousand walls. Guilt and disgust; washing over me like waves, drowning me, pulling me down to the depths with open arms. After six years of friendship, of trust, of a bond forged through silly dances and whispered confessions, I’m going to lose him. The salty stab of tears sits at the back of my throat, burning my eyes, making my stomach twist. 

Soft lips caressing my own shocks me out of the stillness. Draco’s fingers tangle in my hair, holding me close to him. 

“That’s how you did it,” the whispers fill my mouth, dancing across my tongue, chasing goosebumps down my spine. “There and not there.” 

I keep him close, curling around him, afraid if I let go the weight of my confession will finally sink in and he’ll be repulsed by the person sitting in front of him. “Like a shadow. I’ve been there but not my whole life.”

A soul that's not my own, families too terrified or power crazed to ever really notice who I am, friends who look through me, a father who looks through me. I ride the winds of time like a leaf, blown this way and that, occassionaly snatched up to be gawked at or stuck under pins. Too much of this too little of that. No one stopping to wonder what I want, how I feel. No one but Draco. He saw me, let me ride the wave of discovery with his hand in mine. He never pushed or prodded, never asked me to be anything I couldn't or wasn't sure I wanted to be. And now this. Now to let him slip through my fingers, his weight against mine no longer keeping me teethered. I'll ride the wind again, there but not, just a passing whisper. 

“No,” Draco’s thumb hovers over my bottom lip, his eyes capturing mine. “Not a shadow. A spark. You might not have been able to possess Potter, but me…you’ve possessed me – ”

“I wouldn’t ev – ”

“Shh,” Draco quiets me, pressing the pad of his thumb into my lip, his other fingers digging into the back of my neck and for just a moment I see the killer my father wants him to become. “Not with your gift. With your mind. With your kindness. With your sharp wit. With your strength. What happened at the Ministry doesn’t matter now. We both know my father was living on borrowed time. “ 

“I just – ” Shaking my head, I swallow, getting lost in the intensity of the way Draco looks at me. “I just wanted you to know. I wanted to give you the choice.” 

Draco smiles, gently running his fingers through my hair, “It’s never been a choice, Isabelle, for either of us. I don’t propose we start pretending it is now. I was meant to love you and you me just as much as we were meant to be breathing.”

"You aren't angry?" 

"What is the point of being bitter about the past?" Draco shrugs, hold me to his chest. "We cannot change it and I daresay even if we could, it'd have a way of slipping back onto course. You are what you are, my father is what he is. I'd much rather have you here with me than in that place with my father." 

We sit in silence for a while, staring out at the iced over lake, letting this new informatin weave itself into our relationship, creating another layer. 

“Draco," he hums to let me know he's heard me. "I have to go have dinner with Severus.” 

“I know.”


	17. For When the Time is Right

“I’m quite surprised you showed up,” Severus ushers me into his office, hovering behind my chair for a second before moving off to his own. “Where’s Draco?” 

Other than a pine tree in the corner of the office, decorated with floating candles, the room looks like it would any other day. When I was living with Severus I insisted on massive amounts of decorations. He always gave in, allowing me to string tinsel through the hallways and down the banisters. We’d get a lavish tree and Snape would always let me pick out a few ornaments at the shops to hang on it. It’s slightly sad seeing now how he would’ve spent them without me there. 

Jerking my chair out, I settle into it, staring across into beady black eyes, “Not coming. Doesn’t think you’ve had enough time to relearn your manners yet.” 

“And you?” Severus arches his eyebrow as one of the kitchen staff brings in goblets of mead and salad plates. 

“I never thought you had any to start with,” I shoot Snape a smile over the top of my goblet. 

“Does he ever get tired of your humor?” 

“Oh no,” I spear a tomato, watching the juices run down the taunt red side, “Draco finds me quite funny. Why am I here, Severus?” 

He slides the salad plate away from him, hands clasp in front of him on the empty tabletop. I can feel him watching me, trying to figure out how to explain, conjuring up a good enough excuse. Finally, he lets out a long breath, “You two are not making any progress. Hiding, frolicking through the grounds – he’s been given a job, Isabelle.” 

“Why try when you’ll just come swooping in to save the day? That’s the plan, isn’t it? When Draco isn’t able to kill Dumbledore, you’re supposed to step in and do it for him. Payback your debt to the headmaster and solidify your position with the Dark Lord all in one simple flick of your wand.” 

“It would be unwise to try and stop it.” 

Shrugging, I refill my goblet, “You shouldn’t let him treat you like that. Like some pawn in a game. You’re a man, not a chess piece.” 

“We had a deal.” 

“Yeah, only it doesn’t seem like he held up his end of the deal. She’s still dead, isn’t she?” 

Snape’s goblet falls from his grasp, bouncing across the wooden tabletop, dark liquid cascading through the air, “Sometimes love isn’t enough.” 

“Love is always enough, Severus,” I can feel the sting of tears and have to clear my throat to chase them away. “It is our greatest power in this world. To love and to be loved is one’s greatest freedom.” 

He slides his hand towards mine, his fingertips brushing against my palm before he pulls it back; “It’s hurting you, seeing him like this, trying to keep him from falling over the edge.” 

“Not as much as doing this is hurting him,” I whisper back, keeping my eyes on the house-elf mopping up the mead mess. 

“Convince him to let me help.” 

“I can’t. He has to do it alone.” 

The elves bring in more food; heaping plates of potatoes and ham and sweet rolls but I’ve lost my appetite. The dishes sitting before me just make my stomach churn. I’ve not just sat with the feelings, with the weight of it all. I’ve put on a brave face, pushed forward, always looked ahead because that’s what Draco needs. Now that he’s not here, now that he won’t see, I can feel my resolve crumbling. 

“Your father will punish you both if he fails,” Severus states matter-of-factly, scooping potatoes onto his plate. 

I give him a steely look; “My father will not lay a finger on him.” 

“You are not more powerful he is, Isabelle. Do not let your position cloud your judgment.” 

I know he’s trying to bait me. Severus spent three years with me. He knows about the temper, about my inability to let things go unsaid. Despite knowing this, I let myself fall into the trap. So what if he knows my plan? He knows there will ll be nothing he can do to stop me. I’ve decided. 

“This isn’t about power,” I correct. “It’s about knowledge, influence, will. I’m afraid power has muddled my father’s ability to see things for what they are.” 

Another cocked eyebrow, the dustings of a smile creeping over Snape’s features, “And what exactly, are these things your father isn’t able to see?” 

“He’s created his greatest fear, an enemy who knows his every move, who can predict his next. He’s created a monster and then neglected to keep an eye on it,” I lean back in the chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “You see, he’s been wearing the crown for a long time now and I think it’d look so much better on me.” 

“You mean to overthrow him?” 

I smile cruelly back at Severus, leaning forward on my elbows, “By any means possible.” 

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” 

“Oh – “ I let out a huff of laughter, quickly letting my features fall back to stony nonamusment “ – it stopped being a game the second he put a target on Draco’s head.” 

Again I’m studied, Snape’s eyes narrowing, fingers tenting under his chin, “Do you still intend to encourage Draco to kill Dumbledore?” 

“I’m not an idiot, Severus. Killing Dumbledore would destroy Draco, but it is a necessary step. I’d do it myself, but – ” I roll my eyes, flourishing my fingers at Snape. 

He nods, “It has to be me, Isabelle.” 

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, swallowing down my reply. In all the calculations, in all the best-laid plans, I’ve not been able to take Severus out of the equation. There is little chance Draco will actually be able to kill Dumbledore. I will have little chance of convincing Voldemort to spare his life if I jump in. It has to be Severus. Severus who gets impatient. Severus who sees Draco as a weak child. Severus who splits his soul. Severus who is one of the strongest men I know. Severus who has been destroying himself since the day Lily Potter died. Severus who must destroy himself one last final time. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Do not apologize for things beyond your control it – ”

“Makes you appear weak,” I finish the line for him, remembering hearing it over and over when I was young. “You were a better father than you thought.” Looking up, I lock eyes with Snape. “You still are.” 

We sit in silence until the dinner dishes have been cleared away. On occasion I’ll look up from picking at my food and see Severus staring at me, lips parted like there’s something he’d like to say. Each time he catches me looking, he frowns harshly turning back to his own dinner. I can feel the wall, stitching itself together brick by brick. Each time I pull one away, three more appear. I’m not a child anymore. I’m not allowed to hold onto childish things. My last lesson from the only caregiver that truly cared. I’ve got a part to play now. It doesn’t include a bond with Severus Snape. 

I fight against a trembling jaw as Severus stands, fishing something off one of his bookshelves, “Merry Christmas, Isabelle.” 

I flip the small square package around in my hands; quite certain it is a book. Severus has always given sensible Christmas presents, “What is it?” 

“Just a little something,” he gives me a look I almost recognize as fatherly understanding, a look I’ve not seen in a very long time, a look I will probably never see again. “I think it will come in quite handy, one day when the time is right.” 

~~~~~

“Dance with me,” I demand the second I get back through the hidden door. 

Draco looks up from his reading, eyebrows tugging together as his gaze settles on me, “What happened?” 

Shaking my head, I flick my wrist at the record player. The orchestra takes over the room as I reach out to Draco, curling around him as he draws closer. He holds me tight, leading us in small circles around the room. I just need to feel him, hold him to reassure myself he’s still there, that he’s unharmed. If I just keep holding on, if we just keep swaying as cymbals crash behind us, if I can hear his heartbeat under my ear he’s still mine. We still have a fighting chance. Severus is wrong. Love is enough. It has to be. 

There is no tie this year, from either of us. 

Instead, there is a single box wrapped in delicate black velvet. Inside, perched on a pillow of darkness sits a silver ring, the little diamonds around the band sparkling brilliantly in the moonlight filtering through the window. 

With a trembling hand, Draco holds it out to me, “Don’t leave me. I need you.” 

“Never.”


	18. Bezoar

“I need answers,” Harry corners me as I exit the Slytherin common room the Monday after the holiday break.

Allowing him to lead me to one of the cutouts along the hall, I sit, “I might have some.”

“No,” Harry answers back in a stony tone, his eyes boring into mine. “None of this I’m so dark and mysterious crap. I have questions and you’re going to answer them.”

“I suppose you’re going to hex me if I don’t.”

“Well,” Harry’s face falls. “No, but I think it’s the least you can do."

“Fine,” I answer with an eye roll.

“You knew.”

So this is what we’re doing. I give him an amused smile, crossing my knees, “That’s a statement, Harry, not a question.”

“You _knew_ Sirius wasn’t at the Ministry,” he repeats, letting more conviction bleed into his words. Last year Harry wore a look of a cursed man, his eyes constantly cloudy, the muscles in his neck constantly tight, his fingers balled into tight fists. He lost it after the battle at the Ministry, the life just draining out of him, anger and rage replaced by deepseated loss. The old version of him creeps up now, the vein in his neck pulsing, his knuckles going white. It's satisfying to see the flash of red rage cutting through his eyes simply because I won't give him the answers he so desperately wants to hear. 

“I knew what you knew. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“You let him die.”

“Me?” I let out a scoff, fingers pressed into my chest, “Oh no. You don’t get to put this on me. He gave me a chance, I turned him down.”

“You knew he would be used as a pawn. You got close to him knowing – ”

I can’t stomach hearing the accusations. I see Sirius's face everywhere, see that stunned look in his eyes, the way his lips still curled into a silent laugh. I feel the weight of his death every day, feel the absence of our conversations, of having someone who saw the good in me. I can't sit here and listen to this, not without crumbling and I refuse to give Harry the satisfaction, “I assure you, I didn’t know it was going to be Sirius until you did. It could have been any member of the Order.”

“You were friends with all of them!”

“Friends is a rather strong term, Harry.” I'm floudering, trying to latch onto anything I can to not conceed, to not have to admit that it kills me knowing that Sirius died seeing the worst side of me. 

“They _trusted_ you.” He tires again, anger burning in his eyes.

He needs me to admit it, to be able to shift the blame, the guilt he’s feeling onto me. I’m not going to let him do that. Sure, I played a part in getting Harry and his friends to the Ministry, but this isn’t entirely on me. If he had been better at Occlumency he wouldn’t have ever seen Voldemort torturing Sirius. Sirius would have never had a need to step in and save his godson.

“Loosely, perhaps. They all knew who I was.”

“ _He_ trusted you! _He_ looked past who you were! Don’t deny it!”

“I’m not trying to. Are there any real questions or are you just going to keep spitting accusations at me? I’m just as sorry as you are that he’s dead. I miss him too.”

“No!” Harry snarls. “No, you don’t get to feel like that! You don’t get to be devastated that he’s dead. You don’t get to miss him.”

Not willing to take anymore of the verbal abuse, I stand, giving Harry a pointed look, “You might be the Chosen One or whatever bullshit Dumbledore is spinning now, but you don’t _ever_ get to tell me how to feel. Sirius was a friend. I cared about him. He was a good person. He didn’t deserve to die. I would trade places with him in a heartbeat.”

“Wait,” fingers curl around my wrist, tugging me back. “I do have one question. Why Riddle? He hated it. What it stood for. Who it represented.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of anger. This confrontation isn’t something I want, but if I can keep him talking, I might be able to figure out what Dumbledore and Harry are planning. “Yeah well, I couldn’t exactly parade round as Miss Lord Voldemort and his mother’s last name belongs to a long dead pure-blood line. People would’ve asked questions. So, I got slotted with Riddle.”

“A muggle name.”

“The name of another inconvenient nobody on a forever growing list.”

Harry’s eyes grow wide, a little v forming between his eyebrows as they furrow together, “You looked him up.”

“My father was assumed dead for nearly fourteen years. Excuse me for being curious. I’d add it to the list of things you deem inappropriate, but I don’t value your opinion that much. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ve got better things to do with my day than be accused of being a heartless bitch.”

Draco offers me a half-smile when I slide into the seat next to him in Charms. Another bird died last night and he’s not yet fully collected himself yet. I’m honestly surprised he’s even in class today. “Why’re you late?”

Shrugging, I pull out my book, flipping it open to the proper page, “It’s not important.”

“Bell,” Draco catches my hand under his, hooking a finger under my chin to get me to look at him. “What happened?”

“Harry stopped me on the way out of the common room.”

Draco’s grip on my hand tightens, his features twisting up in disgust, jaw clenching, “I swear, if he hurt you – ”

“He didn’t. Don’t go picking a fight where there isn’t one. We’ve got bigger things to focus on.”

At this Draco smiles, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Indeed we do. I overheard Slughorn talking with Rosmerta this morning. He’s ordered a bottle of mead as a late Christmas present for Dumbledore.”

“I’m sure the headmaster will enjoy it very much.”

Draco rolls his eyes, “I need you to do it again.”

I catch Pansy staring at Draco, the end of her quill tugging at her bottom lip, “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”

Draco shoots a look at the girl over his shoulder before collecting both our books and shoving them into his bag. He curls his fingers between mine, standing from the seat. All eyes are on us now, Draco standing there, my arm stretching out after him, him wearing a look of pure determination, my eyes wide and confused.

“Not feeling well again, Mr. Malfoy?” Flitwick questions from atop his stack of books.

Draco swallows, clearing his throat, “Uh – yes Professor. I think I need the hospital wing.”

“Very well,” Flitwick smiles kindly, flicking his wand towards me. “Have Miss Riddle escort you.”

A soft yank on my hand gets me up out of the seat. Draco leads us back through the corridors, slipping into the Slytherin common room. He tosses aside our school things, lying out across one of the leather couches.

“We can’t do that, Draco,” I stare down at him, leaning against the tuft surface. “People are going to talk. We’re not supposed to draw attention.”

Draco dismisses my chastising with a flick of wrist, “Save the reprimands, Bell. I need you to possess Rosmerta again.”

“It’s not just something for you to use at your pleasure.”

“Dammit, Isabelle!” Draco’s fist makes contact with the couch cushion. “What good is your gift if we can’t put it to use? We’ve got another chance here. You’re the one who wanted to help me. So help me!”

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes as I let it out slowly, “Don’t talk to me like that.”

Draco stares back at me, his eyes cloudy, his lips pursed into a thin line. His fist clenches and unclenches, nostrils flaring as his chest heaves. I keep his gaze, understanding that this is another power struggle, one of which we haven’t had in years. For the most part Draco’s given all that up around me, the superiority complex, the need to always be right. He’s always ceded, understood this only works if we’re equals. I guess in all the chaos stirring in his mind he’s forgotten. Refusing to bend over backwards will remind him. For a few seconds, it looks like he’s going to get up and leave. Fire burns in his gaze, years of getting his way bleeding across his features, turning them ugly. And then, his eyes flutter shut, shoulders sagging as he shakes his head. His hand slides up the back of the couch, fingers brushing against mine.

“I need your help, Bell. You’re the only one who can.”

Sighing, I sink into the smooth leather, “This is the last time, Draco. You can’t use this power I have. I won’t let you.”

“I’m not _Him_ ,” Draco answers stubbornly. “I don’t mean to use you. I don’t mean to put you on display. I just – I can’t do it alone.”

“What is your plan?” Draco digs in his robes, pulling out a small vile of a deep black liquid; “I need to get this in the bottle Slughorn intends to give Dumbledore. All you have to do is possess her to put it in.”

“What is it?”

“Poison.”

“How’d you get it?”

Draco shrugs, “Snape keeps all sorts of things laying around his office.”

“ _Draco_ ,” I bat him playfully in the arm. “You can’t just go helping yourself to anything in Severus’s office. What happens if he notices it’s missing?”

“ _Isabelle_ ,” he crinkles his nose, mocking my shock, “he’ll never find out. It was tucked in the back of one of the shelves.”

“Are you even sure it’s poison?” I take the bottle from him, holding it up to the light. It glimmers back at me, little flecks of color dancing in the dark liquid.

“I’m pretty sure,” Draco pulls out a gnarled piece of metal, twisting it in his fingers. “Just a drop and this started smoking, melting into itself. If it’ll do this to metal – ”

“When?”

“This weekend.”

Nodding, I gather my bag, not willing to be late to Defense Against the Dark Arts, “You’ll need to get that vile outside of Hogwarts grounds, somewhere Rosmerta can get it.”

Draco captures my hand in his; kissing my knuckles, “Thank you.”

~~~~~

This doesn’t work either. Apparently Slughorn isn’t very good at giving the gifts he says he will. The morning after I had Rosmerta put the poison in the mead to be delivered to the potions master, the whole school is abuzz about Ron being in the hospital wing. I catch little snippets about Ron frothing at the mouth and Harry saving him with a Bezoar. Draco, who has been in relatively high spirits since Christmas, plummets again. Most days when I go looking for him I find him on top of the Astronomy tower, staring over the railing. He’s not sleeping anymore. He’s gone through two cages of birds in less than a week, desperately shoving them through and falling to pieces each time one comes back dead.

“Thinking about jumping off?”

He hums back, as I curl my arms around him, tipping up to rest my chin on his shoulder, “Do you think it’d be peaceful?”

“To pitch yourself off the Astronomy tower? Probably not. You’d likely regret the decision halfway down and spend the rest of the drop trying to figure out how to stop the inevitable.” I press a quick kiss to the side of his neck. “You don’t really want to die, do you?”

Draco shrugs, my head bouncing along with his shoulders, “Might be easier.”

“You’d have to take me with you.”

At this Draco steps back from the railing, pulling me against his chest, folding me into him, “Don’t talk like that.”

“I won’t if you won’t,” I counter. “I ran another round of charms on the cabinet. It needs to sit for a day or two before you try again.”

“We haven’t got a day or two!” Draco thunders. “He’s been trying to get in my head. I feel him, like a pressure, like my skull is going to cave in. He’s getting impatient, taunting me. He’s knows I’m too weak, that I can’t do it.”

Capturing Draco’s face between my hands, I force him to look at me, “He doesn’t know anything about you. Only you know what you’re capable of. Don’t let him plant seeds of doubt, Draco, not after we’ve come this far.”

“This far?” he spits back, lips curling up in a grimace, nose crinkling. “All we’ve managed is to nearly kill two students.”

“Madame Rosmerta has nearly killed two students. We are not involved.”

Draco lets out a huff, “Don’t play pretty words with me. We both know it’s our fault. If someone finds out, if they go digging, it’ll come back on us.”

“If anyone finds out, I’ll take the blame. I’ll claim you had nothing to do with it. Dumbledore knows what I am. He’ll believe it and in turn so will everyone else.”

“No,” he shakes his head, once again collecting me to his chest, “No. If one of us goes down the other does too. I can’t imagine not having you with me, having to think about you locked away. Besides, they’d never let you take the fall.”

“ _They_ don’t get to decide what I do.”

“Maybe not, but everyone else…me.”

Tipping up, I press a kiss to the bottom of Draco’s chin, “Not for very much longer. Now, lets go back inside. Being up here makes me nervous.”

I wait until Draco is asleep to slip out to the Hospital Wing. He’d likely think the idea was too risky, especially for someone who turned their back on me. The guilt was just starting to be too much, just starting to make the edges of my vision blurry, sending my stomach into somersaults. I’ve failed twice now and if I don’t do something to quell the feelings I might just burst. This little nighttime excursion should settle the worst of it. Whatever is left after the visit, I’ll drown out in a nice bottle of Firewhiskey.

The Hospital Wing is empty aside from one gently breathing lump towards the back. Slipping out of my shoes, I make my way soundlessly over to the bed, hovering beside it. It’s occupant shifts, eyes blinking against the dim glow emitting from the tip of my wand.

“Come to finish the job, have you?” Ron questions, fumbling around on the bedside table for his wand.

I pick it up, handing it to him, “If I wanted to do that you’d already be dead. I came to see how you were doing.”

“You can’t say stuff like that, being who you are, it’s bloody terrifying,” Ron’s cheeks dust pink, his eyes shifting to the blanket covering his legs.

Giving him a smile, I settle down on the edge of his bed, “Thank you, Ronald. Now, how are you doing?”

“Oh, well, I’m doing fine now. No thanks to you and your boyfriend.”

“Draco and I hardly had anything to do with the poison.” I protest politely, trying to paint on a face of innocence. I wasn’t expecting him to come out of the gate swinging. “How in the world would we know Slughorn would serve that bottle?”

Ron narrows his eyes, studying me, “It wasn’t meant for Slughorn.”

“Which I just learned now.”

“Well, if he’s not off poisoning people, what is he up to? I’ve noticed he’s been a lot less vile this year, leaving Harry alone.”

I chuckle lightly, “Aw, is boy wonder not getting enough attention?”

Ron scowls at me, “He just thinks it’s weird.”

“I assure you Draco isn’t poisoning people – ” I give him a pointed look “ – or hexing Katie Bell.”

“How – ”

Giving a flourish of my wrist, I shrug, “You’d me amazed what you can learn when you shut your mouth and listen.”

“Harry says we shouldn’t talk to you,” Ron spits out after a moments silence. “He said your You Know Who’s daughter. He said you’re the reason Sirius is dead. He sa – ”

“I know what your famous little friend has been saying, there’s no need for a recitation,” I snap back. “What does that have to do with this conversation?”

Ron shrugs, his eyebrows furrowing as if he’s trying to remember something that’s just slipped his tongue, “Is it true?”

“What part?”

“Any of it?”

Giving Ron a pointed look, I lean in closer. He shoves himself away from me, back pressing into the iron railing of the bed, hand once again fumbling for his wand now lost amongst the sheet, “Bellatrix Lestrange is responsible for Sirius’s death. She sent off the curse, not me. I’m also not the sole reason we were at the Ministry. If I remember correctly it was Harry who started that trip.”

“You encouraged him,” Ron counters, his jaw set.

“I didn’t see you putting up much of a fight.” Ron grumbles under his breath, but eyes me expectantly, settling in to listen to more. “As for being Voldemort’s daughter, Harry is right. I am his one and only heir. Surely Harry has mentioned Tom Riddle, Voldemort before he was Voldemort.”

“Stop saying his name.”

I offer Ron another light chuckle, plucking a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans from the side table, rooting through it with my wand tip. “I assure you, you’ve got nothing to fear. He won’t come unless I call and I have no need for him.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Tapping my left forearm, I cock an eyebrow, “It is.”

“But he couldn’t – ” Ron shoots a nervous glance around the room, leaning in closer as he drops his voice. “He couldn’t get in.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ronald, a few protective charms aren’t going to keep him out.”

“Dumbledore,” Ron protests.

“Gone. Off gallivanting again, has been all term, but I don’t want to talk about my father.”

Ron snorts, “Not as doting of a father as you were hoping for?”

“Not exactly.”

Ron jumps away, blinking back at me in disbelief as if he wasn’t expecting me to be so candid about my less than stellar relationship with my dad. It’s no secret Voldemort disappeared for nearly eleven years. When he did appear again he was in no hurry to seek me out. One only has to follow the history to realize he wasn’t in my life.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you follow him, even being his kid, how could you do that knowing everything?”

“For the same reason all the rest do, to feel like they have a home. Most are Slytherins, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, but we’ve stolen a few misguided Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs. Father even got himself a Gryffindor; guess you’re all not as brave as you pretend. Hundreds of little kids who were so excited to get that Hogwarts letter only to have their shining dreams crushed day one. Met by booing and nasty comments and hexes to the back all because of what some scrappy hat said. An outcast to all but your own house, looked upon as evil from adolescents. What would you do, if, after all that, someone came along and told you there was a place where people bowed to members of your house? A place where you’d be revered amongst others who went through the same things as you. A place with people who wanted to know you, who saw you as special. A place you felt accepted for the first time. Hogwarts is a breeding ground for Death Eaters. My father collects the broken, the shunned and he shows them what greatness can feel like.”

“Well you don’t exactly help yourselves, not with the likes of Malfoy strutting around, shoving father’s money down everyone’s throat.”

“And that’s why my father will have a constant supply of Death Eaters.” Rolling my eyes, I stand, patting Ron on the back, “Tell a kid their evil, and they’ll live up to those expectations. Tell a kid their brave, and well, we get famous Harry Potter. He might be a conceited git, but I think the world could use a few more Harry Potters and a few less Death Eaters right now.”

“Wait, what do you – ”

The doors to the Hospital Wing snap shut, cutting off the rest of Ron’s question. No matter, I gave him just enough to push the needle of suspicion safely away from Draco and me.


	19. Aragog

Breakfast the following morning is chased down by a rather soggy letter from Hagrid. All I gathered from the smeared ink is that something died and something about tonight at seven or maybe it’s a one. Regardless, I plan on going down to the hut just to ensure Hagrid hasn’t drowned in his own tears. This plan seems to sit just fine with Draco who is so dismally behind on his schoolwork it’ll be a miracle if he passes onto seventh year. I’ve left him my notes, but short of writing the papers for him, which all professors have made clear will no longer be tolerated, I can’t really help. 

“Are you sure you’ll be fine if I go?” I question Draco about quarter to seven. I figured Hagrid couldn't possibly intend for a burial to take place at one in the morning. Even for him, that's a bit outlandish. 

He glances up from the Charms assignment he’s working on, reaching out for my hand, “I’ll be fine. Don’t get caught, okay?” 

“I won’t. We can go to the cabinet when I get back if you’d like.” 

Draco nods, “Isabelle – ” he hesitates, lips tugging into a deep frown. “Thank you, for being here for me, for putting up with everything. I know you don’t have to.” 

“I’m always going to be there, Draco, because I want to be,” Leaning forward I press a kiss to the top of his head. “Condidicarmen is for places, by the way, not people.” 

He rolls his eyes, “I’d fail without you.” 

“I know. I’ll look it all over later. I’ve got to go watch an Aragog be buried, whatever the hell is,” I laugh, blowing him another kiss before slipping out of the common room. 

Apparently an Aragog isn’t a creature but a name. A massive spider sits on an edge of a hole big enough to fit at least half the Hogwarts’ students. The creature lays out on its back, hairy legs curled towards its swollen abdomen. Six glossy black eyes stare up at the dusty night sky. Pinchers the size of small trees glisten in the tendrils of sun still filtering through the haze. A shudder runs down my spine as I imagine the thing springing back to life, hoisting itself up to loom over me. 

“What is it?” I question, making a slow circle around the body. 

Hagrid sniffs, dabbing at weepy eyes, “An Acromantula. Raised him from a wee baby.” 

Taking a quick step back as the body releases a rattling sigh, I hide a grimace behind my hand. I can’t imagine this thing was ever wee, “Are there more?” 

“Oh,” Hagrid lets out a hiccup. “A bunch. Aragog ha' a wife, there’s a whole colony deep in tha forest. Poor things. Can’ imagine 'em withou’ their daddy to keep ‘em safe.” 

“Um, Hagrid, I go into that forest...alone.” 

“They don’ venture too far from their nest. Don’ think they’d be givin’ ya much trouble.” 

I make a mental note to lie to Draco about what Aragog is. He’d never let me go into the forest knowing there are spiders the size of elephants roaming around. Movement from up the hill pulls Hagrid and my attention. Harry comes into view, wearing a drunken smile that slides from his face the second he sees me. 

“Why are you here?” 

“Well, Hagrid invited me.” 

Harry crinkles his nose, rocking back and forth on his toes, “Didn’t know you two were so chummy.” 

“I’ve been taking Care of Magical Creatures with him all year.” 

His face twists, a malevolent glint taking over his eyes, “You’re taking Care of Magical Creatures? Bit below your station, no? What would daddy – ”

“You leave my father out of this!” I snap back, going for my wand. “I don’t think he much cares what classes I’m taking. I like creatures, they’re fascinating.” 

“Guess that explains why you’re still with Malfoy,” Harry shoots back. 

I’ve never felt the need to physically punch someone, magic works just as well, but right now I see red. Magic doesn’t seem like enough pain, not enough to get my point across. Draco has left Harry alone all year. I can handle personal attacks, but I won’t have Potter insulting Draco. Balling my fist, I lunge at Harry, aiming right for his nose. Instead, I hit a hard wall of flesh, falling to my butt. Gathering myself quickly, I make another lunge, set on getting payback. A beefy hand catches me by the shoulder, holding me back as I assault the air. 

“I will na tolerate tha’ kinda violence,” Hagrid looks over to Harry who’s taken up a defensive stance, wand pointed at my chest. “From either of ya. Isabelle, you should go ba' up to tha castle. I ‘preciate ya comin’, but I don’ want ya getting’ in trouble on my account.” 

Shooting once last threatening glance at Harry, I make sure Hagrid isn’t paying attention before dragging my finger across my throat. He grimaces back at me but saying nothing. Feeling sufficiently like I’ve now had the last word on the matter, I stomp back up to the castle. 

I storm back into the common room, not able to shake the anger on my trip back through the castle, “The next student we try and kill should be Potter himself, entitled git.” 

“What happened?” 

I watch the vein in Draco’s neck pulse as I explain the story, leaving out the bit about what Aragog is and Harry’s jab at Draco himself. He’s got enough on his plate without worry about what Harry’s saying behind his back or me. By the time I’ve finished up explaining everything to Draco, I feel calmer. It would’ve been more satisfactory if I had at least gotten in one good punch, but I saved myself the trouble of getting tattled on. 

“You tried to punch him?” Draco questions, his jaw slack. “Like actually punch him.” 

“Yeah and I would’ve if Hagrid hadn’t stepped in. Would’ve served him right.”

Draco breaks out in a grin, his eyes glistening, gaze settling on my face in a look of admiration, “Thank God I never got on your bad side.” 

“You could probably use a good punch or two regardless,” I laugh back. 

He leans forward wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me back against him. His fingers work against my ribs, eliciting a squeal of laughter. He presses kisses up my neck, peppering my cheek, “Oh yeah. Tell me how you really feel, why don’t you? Maybe you deserve a few too for that lip.” 

“My lip,” I playfully scoff back. “My lip? And here I was thinking that you enjoyed it.” 

Draco hums, waggling his eyebrows at me, “Perhaps you could remind me what I’m supposed to enjoy about it.” 

Rolling my eyes, I crane my neck, pressing my lips against his. Draco kisses me back for a few seconds, little sparks of electricity popping between us. He pulls away grinning, “I might need a little more reminding.” 

“You cheeky bastard,” biting into my lower lip I shake my head before happily obliging his request.


	20. Consequences

The school is abuzz the next morning. Trailing behind Draco as we enter the Great Hall, I don’t see her at first. His abrupt stop and the tightening grip on my hand alerts me to trouble. Peering around his shoulder, I see her. Her dark hair falls against her shoulders and despite looking a bit ashen, there’s no indication that Katie Bell was ever the victim of a curse. Her hands move as she talks to Harry, face contorting into a look of regret as she shakes her head. Draco begins to shake as her eyes meet his, his breath catching in his throat. He drops my hand, spinning on his heel and dashing out of the Great Hall.

“Draco.” I hiss after him, letting out a defeated sigh when he doesn’t stop. “Dammit.”

Flying through the corridors, I see him dart into the washroom. Hesitating just long enough to collect myself, I push in after him. Draco stands with his back to me, sweater vest thrown to the floor. He braces himself against the sinks, shoulders jumping as sobs wrack through him. Coming up behind him, I throw my arms around him, pressing my face into his back. For the first time all year, I let myself break down in front of him, my tears soaking through Draco’s shirt, clouding my vision.

“You are brilliant and brave and kind and funny,” the words spill from my lips like the tears flowing down my cheeks. “Don’t let this break you. Remember who you are. Remember what we’re fighting for…us. When this is all over, it’ll be us.”

Draco’s body continues to shake under me, his words coming out between choked sobs, “He’s going to kill me.”

“He’ll have to make it through me first.”

The door creaks behind us. Straightening, Draco shoves me behind him, drawing his wand. His hex misses Harry by inches, the glass from the wall lamp exploding. Harry shoots something back, Draco blocking it as he shuffles us further back into the washroom.

“Stop it! The both of you! Stop! Stop it!”

A bin to our right explodes, sending rubbish tumbling across the stone floor. Another jet of light flies through the space, making contact with one of the sinks, water pouring out over the floor. Draco shoves me into a nearby stall, yanking the door shut. “ _Cruci_ – ”

“ _Sectumsempra_!”

Everything goes quiet. A pair of polished black shoes scuffles against the slicked stones, their occupant losing his footing, falling backward in a slosh of water. Draco’s wand rolls under the closes stall door.

“No!”

Ripping the door open, I fly out of the stall. Draco lies in a pool of water, blood staining through his shirt, new spots appearing, quickly coating the fabric. Dropping to my knees next to him, I press my hands into the wounds, but it’s too much. I can’t get the bleeding to stop. Whipping around, I glower at Harry through watering eyes. “What the hell did you do? What did you do!”

Harry blinks back at my stupidly, his wand hand trembling, “No – I didn’t – ”

“Murder!” Moaning Myrtle, who must’ve been lurking somewhere zips out of a drainpipe. “Murder in the bathroom! Murder!”

Blinded by tears, I collect Draco’s head in my lap, stroking his hair, my thoughts not collecting enough for me to figure out what I can do to help, each spell I try doing nothing to stop the red, spindly fingers from branching out further, “It’s alright. It’s going to be alright.” I shoot Harry another look. “Don’t just stand there! Get help!”

The washroom door bangs open, a blur of black kneeling over Draco. He mutters quickly under his breath, the blood on Draco’s shirt receding, no new wounds appearing. As I listen to the soft murmuring, almost like a song, I come back to myself. I could’ve lost him. Whatever Harry sent at him would’ve killed him. Crushing fear replaces agony, my limbs beginning to vibrate under the shock. I always thought I could protect him from anything thrown our way. I never figured in him protecting me, him standing in between Harry and me, him shoving me into a stall to keep me safe.

“Isabelle,” A finger hooks under my chin, forcing it up. I meet patient, concerned eyes, deep lines of worry forming around them. “I need you to listen. Listen now. He needs the hospital wing. Can you bring him?” I manage a nod. “Good. There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if he takes dittany immediately we might be able to avoid even that."

“Harry – I want him expelled.”

Severus gives me a pointed look, helping to hoist Draco up off the floor. “I will deal with Mr. Potter. You need to take him now.”

I stumble my way to the Hospital Wing in a daze. Draco limps along beside me, letting out little gasps as he tries to take in air. What if I can’t keep him safe? What if I’m not strong enough, not fast enough? I can’t lose him, not now. I stare numbly down at shaking hands as Madame Pomfrey takes Draco from me, moving him into a bed. She talks, but I hear none of it, gaze caught by a smear of blood across Draco’s cheek. A glass is thrust into my hands, the healer helping me to lift it to my lips. Calm washes over me; forced and atricifial feeling, but the swirling thoughts in my head simmer down to a low murmur. 

“He’s in good hands dear. You can go,” Madame Pomfrey states. “Best thing for him now is sleep.”

Scooting my chair closer, I firmly take Draco’s hand in mine, squeezing it. Careful to avoid the various bandages now littering his stomach and chest, I press my cheek to his shoulder, “No. I won’t leave him.”

The healer gives me a knowing smile, “Alright dear. Careful not to touch the bandages.”

Severus glides in hours later, producing a chair next to mine, “She’s given him dittany?”

“Yes and soaked the bandages in it. How did you know, how to fix him, I mean? I tried every healing spell I knew,” my eyes well up with tears again, and I have to bite into my lip to keep them from spilling. “I couldn’t help him.”

Snape lets his hand rest on my shoulder, giving me a pitying look, “I created it.”

“What?” I jerk away from the touch, pulling myself closer to Draco. “You? How could you? And let it fall into the hands of a student!”

“I never intended for a student to get their hands on that book.”

“I don’t give a damn what you _intended_!” I snarl back. “He could’ve died! That would’ve been _your fault_! _Your fault_ for creating the curse in the first place! I don’t want you here. I don’t want you around him. I don’t care what kind of promises you made. Stay away from him!”

Severus, a man I always thought of as strong and unshakable, flinches under my words as if struck, his eyes not meeting mine as he answers, “Learn to control your magic, Ms. Riddle else Mr. Malfoy might not be the only one who nearly died tonight.”

“Get out!” Snape’s chair shoots backward, the Hospital Wing doors flying open.

Breaking down again, I press my forehead into Draco’s shoulder, clutching his hand to my chest. “Please. I need you. Come back to me. Please.”

I don’t sleep well, falling in and out of nightmares, each one filled with me being moments too late, with Draco pushing me out of the way at the last second. I give up around midnight, content to just keep my ear pressed to his chest, to hear his heartbeat reminding me he’s alive.

“Severus said you’d like Mr. Potter expelled,” Dumbledore’s smooth voice cuts through the silence of the Hospital Wing.

Lifting my head, I nod, “I intend to write the Minister. He’s dangerous. He could’ve killed Draco.”

“I must implore you not to do that, Ms. Riddle. Harry is no more dangerous than you or I, nor do I think he will try using such a spell ever again.”

Scoffing, I roll my eyes, “It’s going to take a lot more than a little bit of regret, Headmaster.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps Harry will tell the Ministry what you are, what you’ve done, what you’re capable of doing.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Oh no,” Dumbledore smiles. “I wouldn’t dream of threatening a student, especially not one with such – ” he pauses as if weighing his next words carefully “ – _influential_ friends. I only want to remind you there are consequences to every action. I believe Harry’s guilt; his having to see the outcome of using spells he does not know the effects of, is consequence enough. Mr. Malfoy will live.”

“If I write, asking for Harry’s expulsion, you’ll tell the Minister?”

Dumbledore stands, giving me a nod, “Actions and consequences, Ms. Riddle. Good night.”

~~~~~

Madame Pomfrey insists I get something to eat. She herds me out of the Hospital Wing, letting me know I can come back later. I don't like the idea of leaving Draco alone, but my stomach has started to make embarassing noises. If he'll be safe with anyone it's Madame Pomfrey, she's been caring for him all year after all. 

“I got detention.”

Harry’s voice causes me to jump. Taking in a deep breath, I paint on a stoic face, turning to face him. The urge to punch him takes over again, but I shove my hands under my armpits to keep them still. I can’t be there for Draco if I land myself in trouble. He needs me more than I need to punch that fake concern off Potter’s face.

“Good, though I daresay it isn’t harsh enough. Dear old Dumbledore had to talk me out of writing to the Minister asking for your expulsion. Must be nice, having him in your pocket, making your threats for you. That was a very nasty thing you did. You have no idea what Draco’s going through.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m sure he’s still real upset about his dad being sent away.”

“You watch your tongue!” I pull out my wand, pointing it at Harry’s chest. I don’t mean to use it, but the fear that flashes across his face is damn satisfying. “Or you’ll feel just what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that spell you used and I doubt Professor Snape will be so quick to help you out.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would. I, unlike you, don’t feel bad about harming my enemies.”

Harry deflates, “I don’t want to fight with you. I just came to see if he’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t think you deserve that answer. Leave him alone, Potter, I don’t think you can handle another enemy right now.” With that, I push past Harry. I hope they make him clean the toilets.


	21. One Last Go

It’s been nearly a week since the washroom incident. Draco’s been distant, only leaving his room for classes and meals. Trying to give him time to heal both mentally and physically, I allow him the space he needs. He’ll come to me when he’s ready. Instead, I occupy my time by trying to fix the cabinet. We’ve got a little over a month left in the term and I can feel the pressure. They’ll be growing restless, waiting for our owl, wondering what’s taking so long. I suppose they’ve been asking that question for a while now. At this point, I’ve resolved to send word a week from tomorrow, even if the cabinet isn’t ready, even if it means they all die on the trip through.

Monday before Potions, I hover outside Draco’s door, fighting with myself. I want to be there for him. I want to show him he’s got someone, that he’s not in this alone. I wanted to wait for him to come to me, but I’m beginning to think he won’t. Rolling my shoulders, I take in a deep breath, letting it out slowly through barely parted lips before pushing the door open.

“Draco?”

He freezes, his bare back turned to me, “I’ll be ready in a minute, Bell, wait outside.”

“Draco,” I slowly cross the room, his muscles twitching at I run my hand up his back and over his shoulder.

He steps away, grabbing for his shirt, “Please, Bell. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

As he goes to put his shirt on, I stay his hand, letting my other come up to cup his cheek. Unsteady eyes meet mine as I step in front of him. He grimaces as I look down. Thin white scars crisscross his chest and stomach. The Dark Mark sits out prominently against his pale forearm. I start there, trailing my fingertips over it, following them closely with my lips. I dust my fingers over each scar, kissing them.

“A good memory, to replace the bad and I’ll do it over and over again until you see what I see.”

Draco still looks unsure, his bottom lip trembling, “What do you see?”

“I see a brave man, a man who’s been forced to go through too much. I see a man who’s come out on the other side, just as brave, just as breathtakingly handsome, just as good and caring as he was before, as he’ll always be. This life is cruel. Please don’t walk it alone. Please don’t push me away. I love you, Draco Malfoy. Please, let me love you.”

For a brief second, the blink of an eye, the thud of a heartbeat, it looks like he’s going to tell me to sod off. And then, he’s crashing into me; strong arms encircle me, holding me to a warm chest, inviting me into a thundering heart. For a long time, we just stand there, melting into each other, Draco’s head tipped down, his cheek buried in my hair.

“I would follow you to the ends of the earth, Isabelle Riddle.”

“If for no other reason than to push me off, I presume,” I flash him a smile, offering a playful wink. Our relationship has always been playful; I don’t ever want to lose that part of us.

Draco shakes his head, pressing his lips to the top of my head, giving me a quick squeeze before sliding on his shirt, “Only so I could see you fly.”

“You are something else,” I answer, biting into my bottom lip, trying to hide my blush in my hair.

Severus pulls me aside on Thursday, shoving me unceremoniously into his office. He talks as I stumble over my feet, catching the edge of his desk to keep my balance, “The Headmaster is leaving tonight at dusk. I’ve written your father. They’ll be ready.”

“We don’t even know if we can get them into the castle.”

“I suggest you figure it out.”

I glower back at the professor, setting my jaw, crossing my arms over my chest, “You had no right. This is Draco’s task. It’s his job to send word, not yours. Was having a hand in his near-death once not enough for you? Do you mean for him to die? Because that’s what’ll happen if this doesn’t work.”

“It will work.” Severus slaps a small vial of golden liquid down on the dark wood of his desk. “You’ll see to that.”

Snatching the vial off the desk, I shove it deep into my robe pocket, “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“Don’t let him kill Dumbledore, Isabelle.” Snape hisses after me as I stride out of his office.

So much for breakfast. Slipping into an empty classroom, I slide down the wall. Sighing, I dig the potion out of my pocket, spinning it between my fingers. It’s identical to the one Slughorn gave Harry at the beginning of the term; the liquid inside guaranteed to give us results. I just don’t know if I want to do that to Draco. Even if he didn’t know, even if he’d never find out, it still feels like undermining him. I’ve spent all year building him up, believing in him. Could we come back from something like this? Would he ever think I believed in him again? What would using this mean about my faith in him? Tugging at the roots of my hair, I shake my head. No. I can’t. Draco and I can do this without help.

Standing, I shove one of the windows open, uncorking the bottle. This is the right thing to do. I have to believe in him, in what he’s capable of, in what we can accomplish together. With one last resolute nod, I tip the vial over, letting the contents hit the grass outside.

“Come with me,” I tug Draco up from the Slytherin table. “Now.”

“What the hell, Bell?”

I lead him against the flow of other students trying to get to class, “We don’t have time for questions. It’s happening tonight whether we’re ready or not.”

“How do you know?” Draco questions as we slip into the Room of Requirement. I would’ve liked to have Crabbe and Goyle here to keep watch, but we don’t have time to track them down. We’ve got seven hours, eight max, to get this stupid cabinet to start spitting back live birds.

Snatching a bird from the cage, I push through the walls of crap towards the cabinet. Ripping open the doors, I shove the chirping creature inside, “Severus stuck his nose in our business.”

“Is he still alive?” Draco gives me a wary look, stepping out of my way, as I go to gather another bird.

“I hardly have time to dispose of a body right now,” I snap back. “Send that bird through. Now!”

Draco catches me by the arm, spinning me back towards him, “What happens if we can’t?”

“Please don’t make me answer that.”

Hours, the sun steadily sinking lower in the sky, my stomach rolling each time another dead bird comes back. Spell after spell, the cabinet taking on a permanent blue glow. A growing pile of limp little bodies sits at our feet, my concern for what that image might do for Draco’s mental state thrown completely out the window, the image of his body joining the birds clouding my vision. What happens if they can’t come through? Will he bring them here himself? Would my father risk another appearance? How do we even know Dumbledore will return? My hands shake as one thought is chased away by another, none of them pleasant.

The breath keeps getting caught in my throat, the edges of the room blurring in and out of focus. My legs feel like jelly, hands shaking so violently I’m unable to hold my wand properly. I hear my father’s words; seemingly spoken so long ago, crash down around me; _Punish you? Isn’t failure punishment enough?_ It was always supposed to be this way. We’ve always been playing a losing game. It never mattered to my father if Draco failed or succeeded, he meant to kill him regardless.

I teeter on the edge of reality, my vision pulsing, soul slipping out of my body only to be snapped violently back into place. None of Lupin’s tricks are working. Nothing in here is familiar, there’s nothing to anchor myself to. Sucking in mouthfuls of air, I try and fight back the rolling in my stomach, the burning in the back of my throat.

“Bell!” Arms encircle me as I lose the fight, knees giving out with a painful pop. Draco coos and shushes as I shake in his arms, fighting to stay but desperately wishing to be anywhere else. I should’ve dragged Lucius after me. I should’ve tried again. I should’ve taken Draco and disappeared.

“Come back to me, darling,” his fingers tug through my hair, gently stroking my cheek. “Bell, I need you here. Be here.”

His heart thumps steadily under my palm, brilliant grey eyes dancing before blurry vision. His finger press firmly into mine, voice commanding me to breath in and out, to be solid, to hang on. It’s only after a few rounds of this routine that I hear the chirping. We’ve been through the birds. The rooms stopped giving them to us, at least I thought it did.

“Did you get more birds?”

Draco grins, “No.”

“You must’ve. The chirping.”

He reaches up behind him, gently cupping a tiny blue bird in his palms, “You fixed it.” Draco lets out a breathy laugh. “It came back alive. We did it.”

“Shut up,” I stare down at the bird, tears streaming down my cheeks as I join in with Draco’s laughter. “Don’t lie.”

Lips press into the top of my head, “I’m not lying. We’re going to be okay. It’s all going to work out. It's come back alive four times. We did it, Bell.”

“Woohoo!”

Another rush of emotions washes over me as Draco lifts me off my feet, spinning me through the cramped space. We jump around, clinging to each other, fists thrown in the air as the little bird circles our heads, twittering happily. The sudden switch in moods leaves me lightheaded and floaty, swept up in a flood of exhilarated relief. Draco’s life might still be hanging in the balance, but at least he’s completed part of his charge, at least he’s proven my father and Severus and anyone else who doubted him wrong.

“Who’s there?”

Our voices cut off mid-whoop. Draco silently shuffles me behind him, his fingers staying firmly curled around my wrist as we’re plunged into darkness. He moves us swiftly through the rubbish piles, the two of us slipping out the door and into the corridor.

“When are they expecting to come through?” Draco questions once we’re tucked safely in his bed back in the Slytherin dorms.

Snatching the letter from the stone floor, I skim through it. Before returning to the dorms, Draco and I took a detour to the Owlery, sending off a letter to my father. He responded promptly, the letter sparse and devoid of the congratulations that should usually accompany such an achievement. In fact, the tone of his letter is mildly disappointed, as if he was dearly hoping we’d fail. “Midnight.”

“Do you think it’s safe to go back?”

“I think we probably scared off whoever wandered in there.”

Draco frowns, “What if they found the cabinet? What if – ”

I cut him off with a quick kiss, “Don’t do that. We’ve succeeded. Whoever it was would have to smash the cabinet.”

At exactly midnight, Draco slides off the bed, taking my hand. We walk silently to the Room of Requirement. For a few minutes we both just stare at the wooden cabinet, neither quite daring to speak the words. Finally, Draco takes in a deep breath, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“I love you.”

“Until every star falls from the sky,” I answer.

I give his hand a quick squeeze before he steps away from me, muttering quietly under his breath. The cabinet lets out a groan, the doors springing open. A thick black fog rolls through the room, the distant sound of cackling ripping through it. We’re fighting for souls now.


	22. The Boy Who Had No Choice

“ _Expelliarmus_!”

Dumbledore leaning against the ramparts, looking as calm and collected as ever, “Good evening, Draco…Isabelle.”

“Who else is here?” Draco questions, his eyes settling on a second broom.

“A question I might ask you. Or are you two working alone?”

“No. We’ve got backup. There are Death Eaters here in your school tonight.”

“Well, well, very good indeed,” Dumbledore gives Draco the dustings of a smile, his eyes glittering in the green light cast by the Mark hanging in the sky above us. “You found a way to let them in, did you?”

“Yeah. Right under your nose and you never realized!”

“Ingenious. Yet, forgive me, where are they now? You seem unsupported.”

“They met some of your guards. They’re having a fight down below. They won’t be long. We came on ahead. I – I’ve got a job to do.”

“Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy.” Draco stares at Dumbledore, his wand hand shaking, his lips pulled into a heart-wrenching grimace. The headmaster maintains the stare, his eyes gentle, the skin around them creasing as he smiles, “Draco, you are not a killer.”

“How do you know?” Draco demands, wincing against the childishness of the question. Clearing his throat, he rolls his shoulder, bringing himself up to full height. “You have no idea what I’m capable of. You don’t know what I’ve done!”

“Oh yes, I do,” says Dumbledore, keeping the same flat, unaffected tone. “You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts…. So feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has really been in it.”

Unable to stomach seeing Draco’s hand shake any longer, I curl my own around it, steadying the wand. He shoots a glance at me, returning my comforting smile with a trembling jaw. This way is best. His wand. My soul. I can live with that. “Those were my ideas.”

“Do not take the credit, Isabelle. I am not a fool. Had you been given Draco’s task I wouldn’t have made it past the opening feast,” Dumbledore flicks his gaze back over to Draco. “You see Draco, unlike you, Miss Riddle, under the proper circumstances, is a murder.”

Draco readjusts, leaning into me as if he hasn’t just been told I am perfectly capable of killing. As if, instead of being repulsed by the idea, it brings him some kind of comfort, strength. I am Draco’s keeper. He is allowing himself to be kept. “My heart was in it! I’ve been working on it all year, and tonight – ”

A cry cuts through the air. I stiffen, glancing towards the doorway. It remains dark and empty. Good. I can't do this with witnesses. They have to think he did it. Severus can't have time to step in. 

“Somebody is putting up a good fight,” Dumbledore comments conversationally. “But you were saying – yes, you have managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school, which, I admit, I thought impossible. How did you do it?”

But Draco doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares at the blank stretch of darkness leading to the stairs. The vein in his neck twitches, eyes blinking rapidly as if willing someone, anyone to appear and force his hand.

“Perhaps you ought to get on with the job alone. What if my guard has thwarted your backup? As you have perhaps realized, there are members of the Order of the Phoenix here tonight too. And after all, you don’t really need help. I have no wand at the moment. I cannot defend myself.”

Draco continues to stare through the headmaster, muscles twitching, sweat clinging to his forehead.

“I see,” Dumbledore lets out a rattling sigh. “You are afraid to act until they join you.”

“I’m not afraid!” Draco snarls, taking half a step forward. “It’s you who should be scared!”

For a few seconds, Dumbledore studies Draco’s face, nodding silently to himself as if confirming some long-held conception, “I don’t think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe. Surely, Miss Riddle has explained this to you. After all, she has offered to do it, hasn’t she?”

“It’s not hers to do!” Draco bellows, tears now streaming down his face, bottom lip trembling as he tries to get the words out. “I’ve got to do it! He’ll kill me! He’ll kill my whole family!”

Dumbledore offers a sad smile, his feet sliding out against the floor as if his legs suddenly don’t have to strength to hold him, “I can help you, Draco. Come over to the right side. We can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine.”

“ _Help him_?” Stepping around Draco, I put myself between him and Dumbledore. The drawn-out conversation, the stalling, I can handle. I won’t stand for Dumbledore planting false seeds of hope in Draco’s head. “Like the way you helped Lily and James Potter? Like the way you helped Sirius? Like the way your helping Harry? No, Draco doesn’t want your help. The people you help have a tendency to turn up dead.”

“The deaths of the Potters and Mr. Black were unhappy accidents. The consequences of putting their trust in the wrong people.”

“Yeah,” In one smooth motion, I draw my own wand, pointing it at Dumbledore’s chest. “ _You_.”

As the sounds of feet against stone echo out of the darkened doorway, Draco tugs at my wrist, pulling me behind him seconds before a pack of Death Eaters spill out into the tower. At the head is Severus, his wand already drawn. Dumbledore shoots them an acknowledging look before turning his attention back to me.

“Did you ever wonder why a man who cannot love would choose to bring a child into this world? Do not be fooled by his promises of power. He will not give it.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Snape steps away from the group, positioning himself directly in front of Dumbledore. Stepping away from Draco, I stand at Severus’ side. “When I was very young, my father left me a message for you. I feel like now is an appropriate time to share it.”

Dumbledore, appearing not to have heard me, meets Snape’s cold gaze. For just a second his lips twitch into a smile. The last wish of a mad man about to come to fruition. Me, hands tied, unable to step in and change the course of tonight’s dealings. Dumbledore knew. He knew that in front of the Death Eaters I can make no move to stop Snape. I cannot step in and take his place.

“Severus – ” Dumbledore whispers out. “Severus…please….”

Snape takes one final step forward; his eyes shutting as the spell leave his lips, “ _Avada Kedavra_!”

For a second nothing happens. Dumbledore stands there, his eyes half-lidded, his lips slightly parted. Stepping around Severus, I line my lips up with the headmaster’s ear, “You lose.”

Dumbledore’s eyes fly open, his legs finally giving out completely. With one last puff of an exhale; the phoenix takes its last flight.


	23. Flight of the Innocent

“Out of here, quickly.” Severus grabs Draco and me roughly by the collars, forcing us down the steps. 

Beside me is a shell. Tears spill down sunken in cheeks, stormy grey eyes vacant, trained at the ground. Shoulders shake in a suit jacket that now looks much too big for the boy occupying it. Teeth sit sunken into a chapped bottom lip, trying to keep the jaw connected from quivering. His hand in mine feels like cold stone dropped into the bottom of a lake; heavy and lifeless. 

“Severus – ” Twisting out of the harsh grasp, I try and catch the professor’s eye. 

Snape grimaces at me, his lips tugged into a harsh frown, his words coming out like the hissing of snakes, “Not here, Isabelle.” 

No one tries to stop us, Order members staring on in mild disbelief as Severus sweeps us through clouds of dust, stepping gingerly over rubble and bodies. I try not to look down, to not see the lifeless faces staring up at me. Instead, I keep my eyes laser-focused on Draco, on the silent tears streaming down his face. He’s alive. That’s what matters. That’s all I wanted. 

But for how long? Will Draco’s failure, my father’s ability to prove some ridiculous point, be enough? What will happen when we return to the manor? When the others tell Voldemort Snape stepped in to do what Draco could not? Will I be able to step in and plead for his life? 

As these thoughts swim around in my head, I fight to keep the same bored, stoic expression plastered across my face. I have to be strong now. Strong for Draco. Strong for myself. They can’t see us breaking. There will be a time and a place for comforting words and gasping sobs but now isn’t it. As Bellatrix lets out a blood-curdling screech, the windows in the Great Hall exploding, the candles extinguishing in little buffs of smoke, Draco halts. His hand shakes violently in mine, his lips hanging open, trembling wildly. 

“We have to keep going, Draco,” I whisper gently, pushing my palm into his chest. 

He glances down at me, his eyes not really seeing, “I never wanted this.” 

“I know,” I give him a sad smile, allowing my own jaw to tremble for a second before fixing my features. “We’ve got to survive now, though. You’ve got to keep moving.” 

Draco offers a shaky nod, allowing me to wrap an arm around him, leading him out of the front doors and across the grounds towards the front gates. The other Death Eaters cackle and dance about, gleefully reveling in their accomplishments. Up ahead, Severus keeps his head down, nearly running for the safety offered by stepping just outside the protections of Hogwarts. 

“Snape!” His voice cuts through the cheery chants, “He trusted you!” 

Severus halts, his head snapping in Harry’s direction, taking a few steps back towards the boy. Pausing, I stand beside him, wand drawn, ready for a fight. Together we shield Draco, standing shoulder to shoulder. Severus tilts his head in my direction, words coming out in breathy hisses, “Go on. Take the boy and go.” 

“I won’t leave.” 

“Do as I say, Isabelle. I can handle Potter.” 

He doesn’t understand. I need him there. Maybe, just maybe if he says he didn’t even give Draco the chance, that he jumped the gun, Draco will be spared. I can’t do it alone. The realization is crushing and humbling. I can’t do any of this by myself. We’ve always needed help, from the very beginning. If I hadn’t been so stubborn, if I had accepted the hand being offered maybe things would be different right now. They aren’t though. And the only clear path I see to saving the man I love’s life is having Severus there by my side. 

“He’ll kill him,” I whisper back, hoping Draco can’t hear me. “I – you have to – Severus – ”

His eyes flutter closed, head nodding in understanding, “I’ll say whatever it is you need me to. Go now. Get him somewhere safe.” 

With this final promise, I take hold of Draco’s hand, tugging him towards the gate as the other Death Eaters gather around Hagrid’s hut, setting it ablaze. They dance around the flames, completely oblivious to Draco and I making a run for it. 

“Kill me. Isabelle, kill me. Please. Don’t let him do it. Please.” Draco chokes out, his head swiveling back to look at the carnage. 

“Will you shut up? Nobodies killing anyone,” I hiss back as we slip out the front gate, “I need to concentrate.” 

I wait for the nerves but they don’t come. Instead, determination washes over me in waves. I’ve got to save him. I can’t lose him. Someplace safe, someplace they won’t immediately look. I can hear the cackles of Death Eaters as they shoot off curses behind me. The same face keeps flashing before my eyes. 

Taking hold of Draco’s hand, I plead with the empty night; let it be safe, just for a little. My eyes slam shut. 

The world comes back into focus on a dirty alley. The houses surrounding it lean haphazardly, many looking as if a strong wind would topple them. Keeping a firm grasp on Draco’s hand, I drag him towards the end of the alley to a row of sturdier-looking buildings. Cutting off to the left, I drag him up the street, pushing my way into a house at the very end. 

“What are y – “ 

“Confundo.” 

Wormtail staggers backward, using the wall as a support. Watery eyes blink back at me, his lips parted into a rather stupid-looking o. For a few seconds he just stands there, staring blankly at Draco and me, and then, with an unsteady breath, he topples to the floor. 

Depositing Draco in a seat by the fire, I begin to tear through Snape’s desk, pulling out a quill and parchment, scribbling down what I need, what I hope will make Harry understand. Because whilst twisting through the darkness, I’ve made up my mind. This is a war and I’ll be damned if I let someone who’s threatened the lives of those I love win without facing the consequences. From this day forward, my father will know my wrath. He will know just what I’m willing to do to protect Draco, to protect his family, to protect the people who have treated me like family from day one. 

As the door swings open, I whip around, wand out, ready for the fight I know is coming. I let out a sigh as Severus strides in, lifting an eyebrow at Wormtail’s collapsed form, “I thought you’d come here. They’re close behind.” 

“I only need a few minutes. I need this sent to Potter,” I thrust an envelope into Snape’s hands as Wormtail moans in the corner. “Sorry about your house guest, I’ve had to stun him. I don’t want this conversation shared.” Draco lets out a wail, his grip so tight on the arm of the chair that his knuckles have turned white. He’s freely sobbing now, the tears making deep tracks in the dirt streaked across his face. “Can you give him something?” 

As Snape goes to raise his wand, I grab his wrist, forcing his arm back down, “A glass of wine, Severus! Don’t you dare use magic on him right now.” 

“What are you doing, Isabelle?” Snape hands Draco a goblet of wine, which I gently encourage him to drink, helping him bring the glass up to his lips. 

“Whatever I can to save his life,” The envelope is still clutched tightly in Snape’s hand, his owl silently watching all of us. “Send that! How much time do we have?” 

Snape attaches the letter to the foot of a black owl, letting it go out the window, “Not more than a few minutes. They’ll have seen you aren’t where you’re supposed to be by now.” 

“I’ll tell them I panicked. I didn’t take the apparition test. Besides, we both know he’ll just be relieved I’m alive.” 

“You are entering into a very dangerous arena,” Severus cautions, his eyes sweeping over me. “Do not rely on your current relationship with your father to carry you through.” 

Shaking my head, I let out a sigh, “Dumbledore said the same thing. I’ll tell you what I told him, Voldemort will not lay a hand on me.” 

“How can you be sure?” Snape presses, his hands now on my shoulders. 

“I know.” 

A loud pop echoes from up the street, Severus and I talking over each other, “They’re here.” 

“You should go, Severus. I don’t want you in trouble for this. I think we’ll finally be needing your assistance.” 

“What will you do?” 

“I’m fighting for his life.” 

Severus smiles, curling his hand around my arm, “You are an incredible individual. After all these years, you’ve never lost your ability to think for yourself.” 

“There will be time to exchange admirations later, Severus,” I give him a light shove as footsteps sound at the end of the walk. “Go! Please!” 

As Severus disappears in a wisp of black smoke I turn to Draco, cradling his face in my palms. I love him. I have probably loved him my whole life, even before I was old enough to truly understand what love was. I will love him long after I am gone. Sirius always told me it isn’t about who you’re willing to die for, anyone can lay down their life for another. No, he always asked who’d I’d live for. My answer is sitting here in front of me. 

“No matter what, know I have loved you and will love you for eternity. My heart will always be yours. From now on I need you to play your part and I will play mine. Now, close your mind to them. It’s just us.” 

Draco presses a kiss to my lips, his fingers tangling in my hair, holding me to him, “Don’t leave me.” 

“Never.” 

As the door flies open, I ready myself, putting my body in front of Draco’s. Whatever happens, whatever they do, he’s all that matters. I’ve made my decision. I will not wear my father’s crown. The whole damn kingdom will burn to the ground.


End file.
